The Monster’s Wife
That high cruel laugh
behind a heavy oak door,
and the soft whimpers
of some girl, some boy
purchased townside
and roughly used.
Something rusty stained
the floor, long dried–
seeping past the scratch
marks in the oaken frame.
She knew what was happening
behind the door, of course.
Somedays, she wept
for the ones
he brought inside.
Somedays, she wept
for herself–
locked out.
