T ( / )

Phoenix: Broken Window

as if the purple tears
unwilling to dropp quietly
down the broken
little boy’s face
during the dying sun rays
wouldn’t satisfy
his hatred of an encore
the tone of horror
in his mother’s voice
it, too, rattled me–
along with the son–
instantly loose
from my rented room
a party going fluid
till outdoors; nextdoor
the conversation
teeming with chemicals
became lightning
I could feel the force
screeching loudly
when his father
must have felt
the pummel
of his wild fist
splattering blood
directly into her face
Jerry! Jerry!
wishing she was
a bystander viewing
this whole thing
on that tv program
but, no
her little son
was watching her
in the receding sunlight
as a backdrop
tainted, as a red portrait
with too many smears
colored splotches
of his own bruises
his home broken
the window showed me
one evening as it fell
in the cool kitchen air
where I stood hungry

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