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.