*a true story, a tale of my father's rage....

And I remember the shot gun
we watched you load
under your command
A bullet for each
as you barricaded the house
Mom managed escape
Hobbled away on broken foot
And I remember the sound of
those bones cracking
Bones you stomped with your pointed toe boots
that you always wore with a slight heel
to help yourself feel more secure in your
short man's disease
And I remember the hole in the kitchen wall
the shape of our mother's head,
later covered by a picture of jesus
Our house tore apart like a cyclone had hit it
but simply it was the rage of one man
And I remember the fear at 15
believing I was about to die
as you beat on the door of my room
with gun in hand
And I remember sitting with you,
as your sons, at your request,
stayed in their rooms,
remember the surrender
(I was your shield)
as the cops finially had you cuffed,
remember you pissing your pants
seeing that you were now the one afraid
And though relieved this nightmare was over
I felt sorry and ran to hug you
The cops pulled me away
Mom safe in the back of a squad car
had come back to collect us

11/24/08