Caught in a trianglar trap
Behind the  bedroom door 
With hands glued 
To the door knob 
Warding  off belted lashes–
Belt’s buckle rasising sharp blue bruised whelps
With red raw marked edges —

Her thighs trembled.

Grasping a mop’s handle
From the corner 
Behind her
She thrust the handle
As if it were a sharp knife deep 
Into his fat white belly.