Indoors

I knew anger was a seven-deadly-sin because I knew her.

Rage filled the house, lifted the curtains, fell asleep in the food,

Woke up in the squealing tires of the car

While I lived in my sound-proof booth.

When the helping starts,the forgive, please forgive--

You are doomed. Everything you said

can and will be used against you, next session, next sin

If you dare to agree that she behaved badly.

Don't agree! Let her believe she is the sweet fool that she is.

Every honest word, every real thought you had

must not be had.

There is no help, don't fool yourself,

run away, join the circus, hop a freight train, sign on for a sea-voyage,

hitchhike with a stranger

down the highway: there's a reason for stories like this one, and she is

the reason.

Copyright World Poetry, Incorporated May/Jun 2001
Provided by ProQuest Information and Learning Company. All rights Reserved