"Sorry, Honey," I say under my breath
after slashing her sunburnt face.
"I swear I didn't mean it," but it doesn't matter now.
There are no witnesses this time.
It's the perfect violent crime: unreported.
When I can't bear to watch her bleed any longer
the pipes call my name for the umpteenth time.
I lift the wrench and resume tightening
with an oath to be more cautious of the jagged
steel in the joists left dangling by the demolition.
Though the tattoos don't mean as much these days
it's still my skin underneath them.
No comments:
Post a Comment