A Poetic Justice

He took his wife

A punching bag

He is at liberty to hug

Or to blow up steam

By her hairs to drag.

As it may sound sad

He opted to project

A façade

A doting husband

With noting bad.

Vocal when she became

About this to his parents

Who she called

Mom and dad

“We do not expect

Our well brought up

Son with

Something underhand!”

“We are afraid

The complaint is not

Plausible as he has

A cool head!” they said.

One cold morning

Verbally abused by

Her spouse

His mother sought

To take a refuge

In their house.

“Mom, your son,for lunch

Will be back soon.

To prepare for you

A special dish

Which you will relish

The neighborhood market

I will scour

It may not take me an hour.

Feel at home

Putting on this blanket

On the sofa take a rest.”

After a sleepless night

And in her head and

Outside a fog

It didn’t take his mother long

To sleep like a log.

Her son came back soon.

Instead of saying

“Wake up my dear wife

Good afternoon!”

He kicked her

In a manner

That allowed his mom

See his true color.

A galvanometer needle

She got on her feet

“My sanctimonious

Dear son

Is that the way

Your better half

You greet!”

Petrified he stood

Nowhere to retreat.



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