&heart; domestic abuse

There are tears in her eyes As the door slams and the glass rattles And she watches his retreating back: His tight, hunched shoulders Containing his anger and frustration. She sits and waits, chain-smoking Cheap king-size cigarettes, Wanting a cup of tea, but waiting Until he comes home again Calmer, like he always does. This scene is familiar and she, Like him, is word-perfect in her role One she’d played for far too long. She is bored and afraid; not of him But of change and the unknown. Later, she places a steaming cup of tea At his elbow and forces a smile, Her mind not on him, but upstairs And the large, heavy suitcase In their bedroom. The scene is near-identical To the ones they’ve played-out before, But this time she’s gone from player To director and changed the script. This performance demands a different ending. She will exit, stage left And bow out of this production. After eighteen years in the starring role Of the long-suffering wife and mother She is back in the market again. CUT!