Plastic Sofa
Prose/Poem (audio)
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Those were the days of our lives...
Everything - we and the kitchen sink
along with the sofa -- were protected
Mama would make a big stink
if otherwise.
She put her hand-sewn cozies on ... you name it.
She always looked out for us.
Remember she'd walk us to the bus,
even within sight of the crossing guard,
watched us like a hawk in the backyard ...
Problem was ...
she also protected father,
even after he would scold
her for the stew
being too hot and too cold.
So cold he was to her,
cold as the plastic to our thighs
on the sofa,
where he'd unwind with the paper
and knock the wind out of her like flies.
After working the beat
giving the criminal deadbeats
the third degree,
he would often beat and give Mama
the same agony.
Despite the scarring burns, she saved face,
covered herself with an amazing foundation
that I wouldn't dare put on.
Mama maintained grace-
but why for him?
She repeatedly took his merciless hurt
in bruises and nosebleeds
and yet still managed
to take care of his needs -
a back rub, an ironed shirt...
Why she shielded him that day
in front of the bullet
I may fully comprehend someday.
But I doubt that you'll ever come close
to understanding it.
In cold blood they both laid
soaked on the plastic
where we had sat, played
videos games and Friday flicks,
and slept uncomfortably thinking about Mama.
What you triggered meant to give closure
but I am not sure
that the agony will ever go away
so easily like the plastic sofa
we threw out in the alley.
Commentary of Piece:
I wrote this a while back in a period in which I was watching too many Dateline episodes and other true crime serials and was reading Truman Capote’s In Cold Blood.
I know, this was a downer read.
DIVE in my ARCHIVE for some more upbeat material :-)
If in need (in USA):
Call 9-1-1
1-800-799-SAFE (7233) National Domestic Violence Hotline https://www.thehotline.org
READ, FOLLOW, SHOP AND SUPPORT MARINARENA
The plastic couch covers are a flashback to the past.