A Day at the Pictures

He smashes the windscreen,
The audience recoils.
On the backlash, the hammer meets her face.
Waves of movements react: toying at hair,
Wringing of hands.
Grip the velvet armrests.
Hands race up to block the view
But the fingers are wide apart.

A puddle emerged beside the fat sister
On the back leather seat,
But she carries on chewing the green marshmallow goo
Comforting, calming as she stares
Into the eyes of the killer.
She clambers out of the car, half pace of
The orchestra of heartbeats, collectively thudding
Against the confines of the carpeted walls.

The hunt on, he pushes her down
Removing her burden of virginity.
Eyes are peeled raw at the screen
Despite protests from within.
The credits roll.