White Knuckles

White Knuckles testo

The bookie his dad dealt with when he’d go to the tracks always gave him the eye when they would see each other there. He wanted to knock his jaw right off his face, tell him his father’s debt ain’t got nothing to do with him, and “if you’d like we could settle it with our fists.” That bookie never did a damned thing about it. But that night was different, that bookie was there and he gave him what for. Told him, “You ain’t never to look at my wife like that again.” He landed one good punch, but that man’s lackeys took him to the ground faster than he could hit, and he was out. He woke up in the street and walked home, trying to put together the pieces of the night before. The shame he felt for all the drinking he had been doing and the way he walked out ran so deep. He knew no husband should act the way he did. He made it to the doorstep much quicker than he thought he would, the door was already open and that’s when he saw her. The love of his life, passed in his own home because he wasn’t there to protect her. Because he was out drinking all night. Because that goddamned bookie took her life as a settlement. He put his fist through every wall of that house. Every light smashed and chair overturned. He sat there next to her for hours and couldn’t cry, just held her hand and pulled her ring out of the blood. You’re going to find him, and make him pay. Stumble out to the bar. “Take one more look at her, and it will be the end of your days. You low-life bookie, you don’t scare me. I ain’t settling no debt, I ain’t saving no face. One more drink then I’m gone and then I’ll drag you out of this place.” Put it down for the courage, your fists clench with the blood rush. White knuckles when the hit lands, cold concrete and blurred vision. Stumble home from the bar. Stuttered steps home to your front door. On the tip of your tongue, your remorse. Shamed by the loss and defeat. Shamed by your let down to her. The same walk as that first night. Now alone you know that this ain’t right. Better days and the promise you made, ain’t no man supposed to walk out that way. Her ring lies in the thick red, your tears swell, and the room spins. “Dear God, what have I done?” You left her, and he took her, he laid with her. You bastard’s son. With the blackout and the bloodstains, your teeth clench, then the pain comes.