Below The Wall

The grass below the bench slopes to a wall
That’s low enough to glance over to see
How fields descend to riverbanks; the quay
Where she’s wetted her feet and can recall
Being held down and taken, and the shawl,
That she was made to discard, seemingly
Are soaked in river water, just as he
Soaks up her inner wet; this waterfall
Drowns out her cries; still he took her to task
And made love to her ruggedly; his rough
Demeanour left her breathless; while the stench
Of alcohol fuelled lust could hardly mask
His need to have her; it was quite enough
To flatten all the grass below the bench