Thinking it a table
the kids carve initials
in the back of her hand.
(Roadside damp hides
the pink blood glow
of cigarettes admitting a wrong.)
Mary knew the pain
of the jealous, every
mother stabbed in her honor.
(The healing coils,
snake ready,
for the phone call home.)
The feeling of pain can be sensed while reading this with its piercing picture of what almost looks, sounds, and feels like... a form of torture. Compelling poetry, graphic scene.