Bullets

Bullets fly as he berates me after making a wrong turn.

If only he’d let me ride shotgun.  I’d never driven in Georgia.

Takes only a moment to turn around

and get back en route to his beloved Waffle House.

A minute more of waiting, intolerable to him.

He pulls the trigger of his gun as I did not mean to speak out of turn,

thinking he’d finished his thought.  His sentences trail off

and go silent more often than not.

The shocking bang of his offense blindsides me.

He interjects louder, deeply offended. I get that a lot.

Shots fired when he says I don’t have his back.

He always has the things he needs, homemade meals,

his laundry clean--put away-and so much more.

My entire life is serving him, and this family.

The cannonball strikes me.  I feel inadequate.

Casings burn and scar when he says the kids don’t respect me

because I don’t shout and frighten like him.

I do not make and follow through on threats of striking them.

In other ways I try to be like him, saying “one more outburst, it’s time to leave.”

When I put my foot down he undermines me.

Pellets graze as he watches me sweep, mop,

and vacuum the floors.  No one else will do it.

He will not help me move couches, says I’m strong enough.

And when I vacuum beneath, he says I’m cutting corners.

Just a scratch.  What’s the harm of a few scratches?

Bee bees aren’t lethal.  They spray as says he’s happy with us,

after he said his friends’ wives do much more.

His one real complaint: I’m not attracted to him.

I’d like to be numb.  Six years ago he opened up our marriage

insisting he only wants a girlfriend for sex.  Might as well be a whore.

He doesn’t know he’s waging a war and his made up enemy is defenseless.

He should’ve been her protector, but never was. 

Over and over again, I am his casualty. 

A graze won’t kill me, but multiple lacerations over time?

One of these days my body will hit the floor for good. 

I’ve learned to be silent and retreat, out of the line of fire.

No point to take up arms and fight back.  I’ll never win.

I try to hide, shield myself from stray ammunition.

To those outside looking in, what doesn’t kill us makes us stronger.

But every time he attacks, it’s a firing squad aiming at my heart.