Domestic Disintegration

Domestic Disintegration

As dinner slowly ruins on the counter in the kitchen
You sit and write, who knows what, but you’ve had enough
You say. Last night you spat your words - gobbets of threats and accusations
Sorry later, is not enough. I feel bruised. You think I should be over it
Let’s wait and see. I don’t want to. It minimises, marginalises
I think I understand how history rearing suddenly unbalances
How new flowers get trampled as the land is disturbed
Exposing unexpected graves of wounds and aches buried beneath
I know because history re-visits me often. Of course 
My anger is miserable. The dinner looked fantastic
But it matters not. You’re being a bitch. It dictates everything
You’ll go out soon and leave me alone with the delicious aroma
And the clearing up. Feeling justified. I don’t think you should
You say I should tell you how I feel but you don’t mean it
Not in an honest sense anyway, you only want a pre-chewed version
Of events as I see them, palatable to you, no bones, no gristle, no giblets
Today I understand how the innards are especially distasteful to you