Whiskey Kiss

A poem about the effects of domestic violence on children.

I can smell it. That soft, permeating scent
that knocks down doors and breaks locks.
Your whiskey kiss: a fist.

 

Behind corners and under furniture
are no longer safe havens. It has
violated every happy inch of this
home. Broken and desolate.

 

Sounds punch through the night
like scissors cutting through crisp paper.
A shout. A bang. A scream. Violent
words fall freely from the height

 

of your ego. Tumbling down like a waterfall
of smoke and steam. Gravity defying.

 

Hatred and anger putrefy under
the skin of the on-looker. Lost
in between the death glares and
livid lyrics. Alone in this battlefield.

 

Grenades and bullets fall. Hitting
the weakest target. A boot rocketing down
towards the fragile bones of a spider.

 

Your whiskey kiss. A fist.