Poetry: Encore

I watch as he stretches the rubber band,

listening as it claps with his wrist

sounding like an encore

but begging for me to stop.

I can’t; I’ve already started

and I must go on

angering him,

alarming myself.

It smacks again,

more words pour out,

confessions I need to make:

I have to leave.

He rises from his chair,

a standing ovation

I was taught never to want.

I race to the door

but he won’t let me go,

slapping me into place,

enforcing his grip on me.

Years with him made me weak,

but I had finally grown strong

with the distinct desire to be free

from his binding rule.

A round of applause —

I try to run

—too late.

The rubber band snaps,

a wild animal set loose;

I’m the only prey in sight.

I fall to the floor,

too weak to get up,

too weak to leave.

I just lie there,

cold wood pressed against my skin,

staring at the green strand

that was once so innocent

upon his thick wrist.

Now it lies on the ground

abandoned,

left for broken,

with me.

By: Kyle Freelander