When His Night Comes

His fist hit the table once more.

And I shivered, not this again!

The cold would have been a better enemy

Not my sweet sweet baby.

His eyes bulging; red;

Not the eyes of my love.

His muscles straining against his shirt;

Not the arms of my tender lover.

I had to deal with this, take my monster

And let the tide of his night pass through.

And when his hand lifted to strike again,

It aimed not for the table,

But for the beautiful face he loved

And I shut my eyes.

Nkem Oyaghire