Her husband
Was the kind of man
Convinced
He had to make
Money
No matter what cost
Of spirit
For his soul
Was a lineage
Marked
As he toiled
Looking ahead
Consumed
With fleeting
Successes
Depressed
Anna was married
To him
As a bride
Impure
Through rivals
Within his trade
Both heirs
Of certain
Distinction
Filling cups
From crystal
Holding cash
Which often
Flowed
Building worlds
Uncorked
At tables
Vast
Yet many
Conquering
Parties frequent
Whenever
Those drinks
Were asked
And questions
Poured
Like fate
Where miseries
Mounted quickly
Each time
These customers
Wondered
If driving
Would be okay
While Anna
She worried sick
Hating
The fact
She’d chosen
Her spouse
So focused
And ready
To reap such seeds
Of waste
By lives
Shortened
And victim
At the hands
Of dangerous excess
Like her babies
Gone
From fretting
His need
To merely advance
Always
Demanding change
From her face
And home
They settled
An estate
Ripe with envy
For the vineyards
Bigger
Than theirs
Producing
What he claimed
Was the fount
Of purest
Wishes
Dismayed
How Anna begged him
For a bliss
Their union
Shared
Though pregnant
As she was
That night
The record
Shattered
Waking him
From sleeping
To a vinyl
Cracked
And split
As the needle
Slowly swayed
Over air
Without
Its purpose
To present
Such aging music
On the side
His wife
Preferred
Noticing
She was gone
With blood
Beyond
Their quarters
Smeared
Far down
The corridor
To their kitchen
Glowing dim
Following
Screeching sound
From a TV
Left
With static
Frightening
After midnight
As the emergency
Broadcast
Test
Blared
Among those halls
Of a mansion
Hushed
And silent
Seeking
Anna’s presence
He felt
Behind him
Weak
Like whispers
In his ear
Which spoke
Of phantoms
Witnessed
Discovering
She was dangling
Just above him
Come
New dawn.
– J. Pigno
