For Sheena

The casulties of domestic violence

For Sheena

 

A rough man barged through doors of glass.

Leering eyes clung like clothes to his form. He rushed

Past pumped salon chairs to find a girl no longer his

To despair. The protection order ink not yet dried.

The last words behind the office walls heard

Only by three-ring binders and white erase boards.

 

His thick arm locked stiff at the elbow.

His shells tore through her torso, drywall, latex paint

And a bystander’s shoulder. He shot once to her head.

And he touched a trigger for the last time.

 

A blur of clippers and customers in capes ran

From the spots and pools that collected

On the tiles of a cold linoleum floor. In the parking lot

Squad cars and news crews swarmed like bees

To the shaken hive. Two gurneys are escorted out.