Posted in poetry

them upstairs

every Friday night at 7 o’clock
off tae the pub ye’d see them trot…
arm in arm & dressed awe nice
her perfume taboo, his old spice.

10.30PM back they’d be
stagger up the stairs, then
their favorite LP,
Slim Whitman, usually…
then he’d say moan hen gie us a wee dance…
I could her heels clatter as they  pranced…
Then in a few minutes more…
he would roar…

“GET ‘ER HERE YA COW i WANT YE NOW!!”

& so it began…

a crashing bang, breaking glass
there was always the sound of something smash…
then her feet running across the floor,
the banging of 1 , 2 , 3 doors
then thump thump thump
she’d start to cry
screaming “ahhh ya bastard ma fucking eye…”
more screams & pleas,
i’d pick up the phone
the dialing tone… would drone….

999 the phone would ring
hallo i’d say, number 14 r at it again
can u send a car,

i’m really worried he’s gonna go too far…
then i’d wait…
till silence would return anew.

Saturday night 7pm,
they’d be off tae the pub arm in arm again,
11pm back they’d come
ready for another rerun.

On Saturday nite the music would be Patsy Cline

I fall to pieces, every time…
On Saturday’s it was conjugal rights
but still there was the sound of a fight
as he would roar …

“yer a dirty cunt…get doon on the floor”
there’d be thumpin’ and crying as she pleaded and begged
STOP PLEASE yer hurting me,STOP pushing my head

then, NO more…
the sound of her feet running again and the bang of the bathroom door…

Sunday morning 10’o’clock
Off tae mass ye’d see them trot
His head held high he’d smile at the priest.
her head bowed low, eyes staring at her feet.
Everyone knew, no body stared…
they were husband & wife, who would dare
interfere in a domestic affair.

Author:

I have a keen interest in The Arts as therapy and a fundamental tool for understanding and managing mental health. I love nature, reading, writing, poetry, painting dance and yoga. And have a keen interest in social issues & humanities.

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