socks on the floor are not a pleasant sight
forgotten slips of life from last night’s ex-
cess, living room a real mess, won’t clear up
no, needs a little note though, so you know…
And the Battle of the Bitch begins.

things are getting worse now, she’s a real cow
he’s a master cheat how could he treat me
so unkind how could she be so blind this
crap deserves a little curse or slap now…
And the Battle of the Bitch goes on.

damp socks don’t dry in autumn’s chilling wind
just flap like small white flags surrendering
no use no storm of post-it notes could whip
unending pain into uneasy truce
And the Battle of the Bitch grows tired.

the times she won’t be there are clearly marked
her hair adorns the bathroom sink no more
his empty working hours share the fridge
forlorn avoidance tactics on the brink…
And the Battle of the Bitch stops.