After Seven Years

[expiring_touch]

She hears him lift another can,
pour the beer into a tall glass
as sure as her key slips into a lock.

She dislikes this plastic paradise
of comb and mirror, the thickening
scars, the courted sleep.

Arguments are all her mind recalls lately:
the fists, the remedy afterward. She does
remember an August marriage, his dark
good looks. And now sitting beside this bed
of snow, the room is a jail cell. Outside
her window, on a thin black telephone wire,
is a mourning dove with her mother's eyes.

well! i loved the first two stanzas. if you were to keep the poem to

She hears him lift another can,
pour the beer into a tall glass
as sure as her key slips into a lock.

She dislikes this plastic paradise
of comb and mirror, the thickening
scars.

I would have loved it. And if you would have hinted at the situation you're describing in the title, well! I don't like the last stanza, it is too obvious, too intentional, ideally, you should have the reader going through all that on their own.