Thursday, 31 July 2014

Dirty Ticket

I never write in rhyme. It seems a style for humour. But whilst away recently, it just made sense. Here's one about that awful trapped, helpless, feeling in an abusive relationship.

Dirty Ticket

Slapped square in the jaw with his reason,
He's cat-claw mean to fight
You strap on silk armour for battle
He shreds it each creeping night

The children are too dirty
Or too noisy
Or not his
You flip your mind and turn the stones
To see some sense in this.

Meanwhile take care
Don't slam a door
Or close it just too slow
You'll face fresh day 
With one or more 
Brain stain that just won't go 

Your bed too tiresome early?
When he's still unspoken needs?
Tomorrow with new strength to rise
He'll plant new festering seeds

HIs tumour deep inside you
Grows twisted, gnarled, unstable
The shoots eat all good flesh from bones
Your head drops to the table

Back he'll march to tell you hard
That table now needs cleaning
Your tears have made a mess of all
Self-pity leaves him steaming

This scrapes your neck of frightened hair
Puts hot fingers down your throat
As you wonder why you ever bought
A dirty ticket for this boat

But you can turn the table
You can mend the kids
You can slam the door on him
Leave his life on the skids

You'll have a bed somewhere someday
Where you sleep with both eyes shut
Build the roots inside yourself again
When his cancer has been cut

But take your time
Take friends
Take wine
Take any help that fits
And work your way to freedom
Tear that ticket into bits.

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