Scenes From A Domestic Incident Poem by Louis Kasatkin

His arm moves
like a windshield wiper in a downpour,
cutting and cutting and cutting
cutting all across a wooden doll face;
sobbing and crying and crying
crying in the corner,
two young children cowering from the rage;
blinded by tears choking with emotions
he watches his own hand
redden to crimson,
he sees a wooden doll figure
crash before his feet;
a repetitive percussion beat
breaks down the door,
he remains frozen in a snapshot
of swirling blue and red;
slowly slowly he turns to wave,
his expression rendered
incomprehensible
by the bullets.