I watched her;
I saw him.
but still, i remained in the concealed safety of my car.
and i viewed them,
like a bad high school anti-drug film,
as he screamed the sweet nothings of joplin, MO in her face
she was trapped,
confined,
like a rabid dogs last prey.
hoping to god no one would see her husband abuse her in the street.

But not for her own protection,
but for her husbands.
What a sad day for feminism.

So she walked away, without a word, wishing they didn't live on Main Street, the busiest street in town on a friday night.
but it didn't matter.
most of the people that passed them by were drunken teenagers looking for a good lay for the night.
Stay in the open, i begged her silently.
Safety in public.
But she didn't hear my quiet montrah,
and began walking to their shitty apartment above the old tattoo parlor.
And though she was so utterly white trash,
and though she was scared for the safety of her body,
she traveled with a type of dignity and grace that one only sees once in a lifetime.
I knew what she was thinking.
"He loves me, he's only drunk...again."
"It will be over soon, just wait for him to pass out."
"it's the only way"
it was almost like she knew,
that his behavior was simply the penial condition.
no change,
no matter what man.
Why god, i curse the creator, would you allow such shit to happen?
but it was worthless, praying.
i felt like i was talking to the ceiling.
I watch her walk swiftly to her dungeon,
awaiting the stumbling arrival of her husband.
fists clenched,
teeth grinding,
alcohol stained on his breath.
knowing...
exactly what was in store for her.
but at least,
this time,
it was in private.

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