He Says

A poem

It’s just a bit of fun, he says slamming the door, drink making his eyes mean. The baby’s startled wail drifts through the air. I’m allowed to have fun when I finish work.

It’s your fault, he says another woman’s taste on his lips. He pops the top off his beer and leans back on the couch. You should try harder.

You’re too controlling, he says a different woman’s scent on his fingers. He doesn’t bother to shower her off, just climbs into the cold bed. I have my own life.

I can’t win with you, he says a third woman’s teeth marking his skin. He closes his eyes, shutting me out, face turned away like a child. I won’t do anything that makes me happy then.

What did you expect, he says unravelling my world around me, his lying tongue spitting words that bruise and burn. You never have time for me anymore.

You can’t survive without me, he says refusing to take the gold band I thrust at him, all clenched fists and angry mouth. It drops to the floor, the dull thud a lonely final note to a bitter song. You can’t leave me, I need you.