He is shouting again
and I am under-table
peering out
between legs
to yours standing
in ruby plimsolls.
His keep moving, moving
to his shouting
plodding black
leather, mud caked
– laces greying, fraying.
Yours unmoving,
whispers
“please”
His stopping, smacking,
thumping, whacking.
Your feet flying.
Your body sailing,
slamming door.
Your blood-soaked face
sliding into view.
You crying
hands praying.
Blotted out.
By that.
Head looming, eyes looking,
grabbing legs.
You wailing.
It’s all wrong, it’s upside-down.
He drags me,
rights me.
I am flailing,
sailing.