First Call for Help

She stands,

phone in hand,

heavy as cement block.

Seconds to make a choice,

change lives with her voice,

she hopes. She balks,

sets it down as his rant resumes.

He’s raving, waving, enslaving her in the room,

hurls her phone, smashes the clock.

He storms out again, footfalls smack tiles.

She picks up the phone and swiftly dials.

Through the nursery wall the baby squawks.

Five years since his last bad funk.

“Send police, hurry, he’s really drunk.

I have to go now, I’m too scared to talk.”

He’s coming back up, ranting about her disrespecting.

She sets the phone down without disconnecting,

Stands still as she can, scared and shocked.

Prays for help to arrive before things turn deadly.

Despite this, she feels somewhat lighter already.

She waits an eternity for the police to knock.