Prose Of The Wife Of An Alcoholic

I sit here at the kitchen table tonight,
with the coffee permeating the house.

I'm waiting to hear the sound of your truck,
pulling into the drive way.

I shed a few tears knowing where you are.
I shed a few tears knowing what you are doing.

You are at the bar again tonight.
You drink and drink your life away.

The kids are upstairs asleep, and dreaming.
They only hear what happens when you come home.

You come home in a drunken stupor.
You walk through the door, and then it starts.

The first slap lands on my cheek.
The second knocks me to the floor.

I try not to cry, for if I cry,
I get the leg against my stomach.

Its no use, the tears stain my cheeks.
Your leg lifts and kicks me.

One more slap to my head.
Another blow to my limp body.

I scream out for you to stop.
Please, I scream, but it might be imaginary.

Over and over again, pain never ceases.
Over and over again, neverending hurt.

I have been asked why I stay with you.
Is it love? Is it wealth?

I do not, and cannot answer the question.
I do not have an answer to give.

I want freedom, but maybe a part of me fears.
Maybe a part of me doesn't understand independence.

I wish I could show you what this does.
But you are blind, or do not care to see.

I tried to show you the many bruises,
then covered them up with my make-up.

Too scared to leave, too scared to stay,
so here I sit at the kitchen table tonight...