Jörmungandr

He didn't know what on earth to tell her –

one of those times she couldn't but lose face.

The verdict out, the judge would soon adjourn

and she'd be trapped in her own emptiness:

hysterical, a custody transfer

would be granted to that sozzled disgrace

of a husband; joblessness a concern

she'd have endless periods to address.

Like her black hole of a heart that would spur

cycles of anger after which she'd space;

with her children silent, distant, and stern,

the jury ruled her unfit to progress.

Sure, he'd cited her rape by a teacher,

and her mom gone missing without a trace.

His job's done, no reason his guts will churn,

tonight he's home with a wife to caress.

For her all this will happen in a blur –

orbiting nightmares she'd better efface,

and shed the memories that give heartburn –

with no choice but to mull over the mess.