‘Cheated’ by Alan Parry

Originally published in themarkliteraryreview.com

I don’t recall her name, and I’m too afraid

to ask, but still I can see her smeared

eye-liner, those torn fishnet stockings and

that spiky blonde mane as if she stands

before me now. The image of her smashing

her fists clad in fingerless gloves against our

front door will never fade. Her anguished

adult accusations, my old man’s shouting

and my mother’s sobbing on the stairs, me

sitting in the window of the front bedroom

over the porch, it’s all there. A tragic

tableau, my earliest memory.

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