Shoulder the sky my lad, and drink your ale.
– A.E. Houseman
He held the wine glass up and swirled the liquid scarlet,
took a sip, spit it in her face, and plunged it
to the floor in a gesture of defiance; one more turn,
one more shiver in the eye, the trembling
of the gasp she registered, as she – terrified,
beheld him in his sot besotted acrimony; his face,
the scar below the eye, the chin – a bone thrust
punching air, his good eye blinking blue like fire;
his black oily hair falling down in curls like snares,
and his hands shaking and laboring to keep steady;
and, she moved slowly backward as he slapped her,
and then she screamed and told him to get out.
He woke up just enough to know he’d done wrong,
and tried to allay her alarms, but she pelted him
until he retreated and fell backward through the door.
Now he sits here in jail again, drunken like a fool;
the cops picked him up doing ninety in a school zone.
– Steven Craig Hickman ©2014 Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author is strictly prohibited.