The Mrs.

Banshee howls break through 
my intent words on paper.
Sucking all hope of a good evening
out of my bones, like rubber
from a tree.
Half whine grating pitch
of language
thinly covering jealousy,
thickly covering violence,
like lichen and mud.
Why must the voice be used 
to irritate, to drain the freebirds
of their innocent pleasures?

Hollers commands and falsely
accuses evildoers of having too much
fun, too much of anything
too much love.