she always walks her mother's dog on Sundays

and gawks at his house with the fading blue shingles

with big, blank eyes like discarded teabags,

flecked with black-greens

and muted browns

and all colors that are ugly.

her face is round, soft,

like the chubbiness of childhood

couldn't let her go.

I think that there was something in

her childlike visage

that made him hate the woman she couldn't be.

so he tried to beat it out of her.

and he tried to rape it out of her.

but her dirt and soil eyes couldn't, still can't, understand.

because she is forever a child,

and he is something less of a man.


11.9.08