John D. Robinson

I would guess that

she had her reasons

for her actions;
the heavy glass

ashtray thrown in

the semi-darkness

was a quality throw

and opened up a

deep gash across the

bridge of my nose;

I picked up the
nearest object,
a cauliflower,
and threw it towards

the screaming and

missed the target

miserably and I felt

the warm blood

streaming onto my lips

and down my chin
and I began laughing;

she moved and

switched on a light

and began crying and

apologising as she

looked at my face and

then behind her at the

shattered cauliflower

upon the floor and

then she knelt down

and embraced me,

kissing my bloodied

face, diluting the

red with her tears.