A Fine Kill (revised)

I                                                   

From the perspective of an eight year old

Mommy raised her voice at me

like all mommies do

and said,

"Son, CLean UP AFTer YOURSELF!"

Like she always does,

she flickered her eye lashes

and progressively got louder

with each word

I bit into the apple

of my slithering tongue--

the forbidden fruit; saying

"Fuck you."

"Where did you hear that from?"

her gleaming eyes spoke

in harsh hisses

of 'you-are-in-so-much-trouble-son'

"Daddy says it driving every day 

to the cars in front of us." My fear

coating the gasps of

'oh my gosh, she is going to kill me.'

"HONEY!"… from the other room 

my daddy swallowed, "Whaaaaaat?"

"GET OVER HERE!" 

I looked astonished at the sound

Of my mommy's pronunciation 

formed by her goddess lips of maternal
grace, screaming at my daddy instead of 
me… a fine kill

                       

                        II

From the perspective of a thirty-eight year old

That bitch was breathing out

fire again through gritted

teeth—that sworn lover of

mine—must be that time of month

Like she always does, her

voice was drowning out the sound of

the football game, screaming at our son 
for God knows what

I bit into my potato chips massaging

the crumbs with my tongue—

swallowing down words I wanted to

say like, “Shut the fuck up.”

I could hear her teeth grinding

like coffee beans as her words spoke

in harsh, quick staccato hisses

like a slithering snake

And I stared awe struck

listening to my beating heart,

to the sound of my last breath as

my son sold me out

“HONEY!” … I swallowed down a gulp

of Budweiser, and said, “Whaaaaaat?”

“GET OVER HERE!” my heart

raced and I took my last breaths

My mind was racing with ways to get 
out the situation, but nothing did. “Shit.” 
I walked into the arms of death,

with my head down low… a fine kill