Working? Hardly

Working?  Hardly

Not sure

why the anger was there,

it just was.

His voice made her

body shake,

her bones quake,

her ears ache.

The radio was playing

something hardcore,

softly in the background.

And she found herself praying.

Praying for a song

to save her life.

Nervously.

She could smell the tobacco

and a hint of dark beer

as she quietly listened.

Wondering;

isn’t there a more productive way?

And after the talking stopped,

so did the shaking.

And she sat back down,

and wrote this poem.