Head

Head

His strength

is all that I can handle,

a bundle of nerves,

cut just rite,

and close

to the heart.

 

Arms that are good for holding,

and digging holes

in the garden;

opening bottles of wine,

always handy

in the summer time.

 

And he keeps one eye

on my feet,

and the other

on my purse,

sure that I don’t

give away what I got.

 

Little, if anything at all.

 

But he doesn’t bother

when he’s angry,

leaving me behind

to buy my own cigarettes,

or cheap bottle of bourbon.

 

That’s when he likes me the least,

when I’ve blown over

the clothesline.

 

Or didn’t hear the timer

for the chicken in the oven,

another dinner ruined,

cremated.

 

He thinks me

a waste of money.

 

Though he does smile

when I show him my shoulder,

and laughs,

at the back of my head.

Reviews

[Antonio Valentino]

Hey Abby real nice guy here.
I really enjoyed your writing style.
Next time you show him your shoulder, smack him with it.

Great piece, glad I got to read it!
Antonio

[Millionth Muse]

That’s when he likes me the least,
when I’ve blown over
the clothesline.

--Not sure why, but this was my favofite stanza. I love the tone and "voice" that you use in this. There is a "matter-of-fact" way that you write which really works well in this piece. Nicely written.