Years of Hurt

Whilst the majority of domestic violence perpetrators are men I am fully aware that men are sometimes victims as well, therefore this poem is written in such a way that ‘he’ and ‘his’ can be substituted with ‘she’ and ‘her’, and ‘girls’ with ‘boys.’  

When it comes to domestic violence, no-one is a winner…

Oh God, did England win? That means that he
is coming home. I’ve done the washing up
and cooked him steak and crinkle chips for tea
and put his tinnies and his football cup
beside his chair and switched the telly on
All done. I wait. It could go either way
Of late it’s gone a little bit like this
He comes in in a ‘you’re alright mate’ way
insisting on a bear hug and a kiss
and then the beer kicks in – his tea is cold
his boss is mean to him, his car is shit
and I’m the Germans, oh and I am old
I told the girls at work he didn’t hit
me, lied about the bruise beneath my shirt
Don’t talk to me of Lions. Years of hurt.

© Gail Foster 7th July 2018

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Gnawing Resentment

Some folk never let it lie…

*

He gnawed on his resentment

In public and alone

Like a dog he kept on worrying

The marrow from the bone

Till he gave himself an ulcer

Till his teeth got small and stumpy

Till other dogs said, Hang on, Fang

You’re starting to look grumpy

He wouldn’t leave the thing alone

Just wouldn’t let it lie

Time to put the bone down, Fido

Go on, try

*

by Gail