Restraint

Standing slightly behind her husband,
something she knows hidden beneath the depths
of her apron, a misjudged decision.
Two upstanding figures,
believers in the Bible, hard working.
Miserable expressions born from exhaustion.
A haunted stare, her weak blue eyes
unable to look directly.
Furrowed lines of unspoken truth, chapter and verse
uttered in silence, penance of hard wood on knees.
A thought of flight
trailed by the escaping blonde curl that whispers
on her neck, he is in control.

He is in control, knows she will not leave him.
The pitchfork is sharp and his temper flares.
She needs looking after, guiding. He provides that.
His grip on her firmer than the pitchfork handle.