It's Still Life

It’s Never Just About a Back Door Slamming

More like a mean demon wind,
always bristling against
my good nature, banging
like iced-cruel fingers, he said,
in that way he has with words…

The back door slammed again, bruising the door frame.
It was already hanging thin by its own echo.

Damned kids can’t do anything
quiet, he said, and I noticed
that rubbery vein on his forehead,
growing and thumping like a ball.

No telling, he said, how much
it’ll cost to rehang that door.
He finished lacing up his boots,
muffled a wish about a good day,
and walked off toward the barn.

Sometimes I wish he’d keep right
on walking, and never come back.

written for Sunday Whirl #280. This week’s words are: demon bang muffled cruel boot ball bruise mean hang cost always back.