A. McHugh Coming Down
The sea knocks wildly, as it must.
Quiet, the father growled down. Hushed,
she swallowed tears like fist-sized rocks.
Now, she talks in circles but she talks,
Sometimes I think I hate him but—.Outside, the wind sets rush on rush.
She leaves with some free-sample drugs
and a Wednesday, then, at six o’clock?
The sea knocks wildly, as it must.Bells ring. The waiter glances up.
Hand steadied on the coffee mug,
she breaks the foil, swallows the chalk.
The storm has gathered up its bulk:
the lights in town black out at once.
The sea knocks wildly, as it must.