“Wooly Bully” blasts from the radio.
She thin-slices cabbage with a butcher knife,
smashes and dices garlic in the narrow kitchen.
Another old rented house.
She wipes a strand of red hair
from her damp brow
with the back of her hand,
scrubs dirt from carrots,
quarters baby red potatoes,
corned beef simmers.
Heat in the cast iron kettle,
Heat in her head.
She tugs at her mini skirt,
tugs at her T-shirt.
Her feet dance
but onion tears streak her cheeks.
Nothing will clear her troubled mind.
The secret will gnaw.
This morning she lied
in court for him.
C.J. Prince
©2016
C.J. Prince Poet 
Oh no! That will change the relationship forever. That he asked, that she did, that he did whatever that needed her to lie in court. That is a beautiful picture of a cabbage.
Finding Eliza