The man sits, his head hanging,
With
bruised knuckles and burning eyes.
He trembles.
The
whys and
hows hang in the
silence
Together with
apologies unspoken
And
praise withheld.
He lifts and twists his right hand,
The hand that made the
fist,
That shattered bone.
His child's shrill shouting hushed,
Her
laughter crushed with the same
wild blow.
He wanted
peace and
quiet. He got
quiet.