The man sits, his head hanging,
With bruised knuckles and burning eyes.
He trembles.

The whys and hows hang in the silence
Together with apologies unspoken
And praise withheld.

He lifts and twists his right hand,
The hand that made the fist,
That shattered bone.

His child's shrill shouting hushed,
Her laughter crushed with the same wild blow.
He wanted peace and quiet. He got quiet.