Beside the crib, she sings to her sleeping toddler, 
whose birth made this cursed earth into a nirvana.
She began to ponder
and realized: her life would lose ardor
if she were no longer a gardener. 
But the farmer is just a captured sex partner;
an alcoholic prima-donna, 
the type to come home with lipstick on his collar
and immediately take a shower. 

His daughter is a withering flower
because he saw her in the delivery room
but stayed less than an hour. 
Paying child support? Ha! He doesn't bother!

Mid-thought, she heard noises in the parlor. 
She wasn't hosting company, 
so either it's the Boogie Monster,
or someone is trying to harm her.

Her first instinct was to holler, 
but enough power she was able to conjure
to not only face the unknown, but to conquer. 
She kissed her daughter on the forehead
and vowed to be her armor.

She tippy-toed down the dark hall
smooth as a mobster
and spotted the imposter
with a ski-mask, duffle-bag and hunched posture.  
This person was trying to rob her 
for every dollar and piece of copper. 

She grabbed a pot off of the stove 
which she used to make pasta,
snuck up close to the burglar
and smelled traces of Vodka.

She hit the thief multiple times in the head;
each strike increasingly harder
to the point where she went ballistic
and nothing could stop her. 
She swung so many times,
her arm looked like the propeller
of a helicopter!

As the stranger laid unconscious, 
she emptied the duffle-bag onto the counter
and found not only her belongings,
but two bullets in a revolver.

Before she called 9-1-1
to send a police car and a doctor,
she unveiled the face of the intruder: 
her child's father.

It was then that she realized:
her baby may have been awakened by the opera,
soaking her teddy-bear with tears 
and crying "Momma!"

She grabbed a story-book
and headed down the hall to calm her.
But when she opened the nursery door, 
she saw that her daughter slept through the drama.

By Darryl Walker Jr

(c) Copyright 2016