The Sparks that flew off the metal rod
While it was dragged along the road towards the house
Fails to amaze me for I knew what was going to happen
I listened to the melody of the rock
Against the metal as it came closer and closer
I always wondered what desecrated
The shrine of humanity in him
Why did he always smell of sulphur
What made him an inverterate abuser
The moment the door shut
Shivering I stay, not being able to look at his face.
The blows of the metal rod fell more hard
On her heart than on her body
The tempestuous wind never calmed down
Inside these four walls . . . .
So many days, so many blows,
So many metal rods, blood and marks and cuts and screams.
I wish Mamma was bold
But never did she let the metal rod touch me,
But I wish that she did that for her too. . . .
She says that he was never always like this
But still he’s the smear of black paint
On my canvas
He’s the indelible mark on my childhood. . . .
He is my Pappa and I wish that he wasn’t.
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