He Sleeps the Anger Away

For years, I have despised his anger.
Rage seething out of his pores, descending over his brow, stomping through his gait.
         he is put-upon when asked for help
         he is over-extended to provide dinner
         he is aggravated to be waiting for us
Paradoxically, he acts out in style, delicious fashion, good taste.
But we pay the cost as his anger rises unexpectedly, precipitously.

A day passes, maybe two, before he comes to his senses.
He is caustic, abrasive, angry.
He hurts without sense—unyielding, unfeeling, unstopping—
His disdain rains down, dampening—sometimes flooding—the children.
Then he shuts down, not communicating—maybe out of rage, possibly realization.

I see him sleep when he has these fits of rage.
Much earlier, with neither TV nor busy-work before bed,
He sleeps without snoring—far better than usual.
         Is it simply to repair or because he sees the decimation?
The rage must require so much energy to maintain.

From where comes the rage?
         from lack of self-respect
                   for his uncommunicated desires for today?
         from frustration
                   for his lack of planning?
         from selfishness
                   pulled from his shadow?
         from memory
                   of his childhood losses of time and persons?
         from abuse
                   that he was forced to endure?

Why comes the rage?
         to attempt communication
         to take back his decision to allow the events
         to exert control
         to release the anger he has pent up
         to grab at those over whom he has no more control
         to atone what was lost

The wind howls outside the glass panes.
It cries for the phantom of happiness it chases.

[December, 2007]