Torturous

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The torturers take a break from
racks and thumb screws and Chinese water.
It's coffee time, conversation,
relaxing with their peers.
The conversation doesn't stray from torments,
the hugs that squeeze the freedom out of
married lives, the kisses that draw blood.
They talk of family, the aging mother
who brutalizes with her need for constant
watching, kids that keep them up all night,
neighbors likewise with their parties,
fights and midnight car alarms.
And what about the government that
sucks the marrow from their bone,
bosses who lash the ears like
cat-o-nine-tails on bare skin.
Sporting teams flail their faith. Priests set the rats
of God upon such ordinary sinning. Still coffee tastes
good even as it bums the throat going down.
It's not torture when it's you doing it.