Beating Her

I was working at my desk in the morning.
When I heard some banging and pounding,
from below me.

The neighbors were fighting again.
But, this was different.
This was screaming.

It was the sound of punching through flesh.
The sound of slapping skin
That sound of hands raised in defense,
while a fist plows through to break a nose.

Pounding, pounding, slap, slap,
screaming,
and a little girl crying.

“I’ll kill her!”

“No! Please! Run!”

The crashing of furniture.
The tired breathing of the finally
worn down.

“Give me my phone!”

“If you call the cops I’ll kill her!”

Slap, Slap, Slam, Break

“Run to the neighbors!”

“Get back in the bedroom!”

Screaming, fighting, dragging.

“Run!”

I call.

Telephone ringing. Buzz, Buzz, Buzz
A never ending buzz.
“911”

Why these women pick these guys who lie,
cheat, beat, ruin them, and don’t provide
I cannot imagine.

It’s a circle of pain,
which little girls and boys live.

Over and over,
generation after generation.

Drinking, cheating, lying, beating, doping,
and destroying.

It never ends,
even when someone dies,
or ends up in the joint.

It just shifts to a new place,
a new face,
beat to a pulp,
another stage to play out the dance.

And the cops come,
and write down the story,
to use in court.

And they lie.
And they cry.
While the little girl,
sings a song.

Taken to jail,
to be free soon.

To be forgiven,
and return,
to get her high,
and make her ride,
to beat her again,
soon.

“911”

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