I slip on my ripped up tee-shirt,
Covering last night’s bruises.
I face grey eyes in the mirror,
Rimmed with dark purple splotches.
Sissy gives me a hug goodbye,
And we head our separate ways;
The heat is stifling and thick;
Georgia and her sweet revenge.
I do my time in the jail-cell,
Taking each word in slowly.
They congest my mouth with paper,
Fill my throbbing veins with ink.
I puke out the information
And purge facts from my insides.
The walk home is long and fetid;
The air smells of loss and piss.
I pass poor and rich folk alike,
Bound to naught but this city.
When I get back home he’s angry,
And I feel his swinging fist;
Sissy cowers in the kitchen–
Not the first time, but she’s scared.
I take it like the times before–
Better to accept the pain;
At least then he won’t hurt Sissy
And we can both stay alive.
Next morning I put on my shirt,
And cover last night’s bruises.
Today they’ll fill my veins with ink,
Tonight he’ll hit me again.
I look at myself in the glass,
See the grey eyes rimmed with red.
Beside a fresh bruise is a grin;
For I have one thing they don’t: