After the drink, after dinner, after the half-hour idiot kids' car-
          toon special on the TV,
after undressing his daughter, mauling at the miniature buttons
          on the back of her dress,
the games on the bed — "Look at my pee-pee," she says, pulling her
          thighs wide, "isn't it pretty?" —
after the bath, pajamas, the song and the kiss and telling his wife
          it's her turn now,
out now, at last, out of the house to make the call (out to take a
          stroll, this evening's lie),
he finds the only public phone booth in the neighborhood's been
          savaged, receiver torn away,
wires thrust back up the coin slot to its innards, and he stands
          there, what else? what now?
and notices he's panting, he's panting like an animal, he's
          breathing like a bloody beast.