Iron Blood

I watched her eyes
as she squatted with her back against the wall:
fear and curiosity; understanding, but not defeat.
Jimmie Russell didn’t respect
a woman that hit harder than him.
He stood tall hoping she’d stay down,
not make him any smaller than he was.
Beer and whiskey hung suspended,
like smoke under a 60 watt world;
words were sucked out of the air
with the first crash of blonde hair and chairs.
Life could be difficult for a woman
that accessorized with her fists.
The cops weren’t called, they never were.
Sherrie inched up the block wall
smearing blood on the backside of her hand;
this wasn’t the first, nor would it be the last time
an uninvited grope of her ass
would give a taste of the iron in her veins.