We huddled in corners, arms wrapped around one another.
wiping each others tears watching from the shadows.
Praying that angels would swoop down and takes us to a
better place, away from this house, where our tiny hearts
ached for our mother’s safety.
On a good day there was Chinese food brought home
and shared and peace hung about for a little while until
the liquor bottles were brought out.
Then like the calm before the storm he erupted from
the darkness taking hold and locking us up as prisoners
to witness the cruelty and abuse forced upon us.
Like a bull on the charge he would froth at the mouth,
breaking and smashing things all over the house.
He cussed and shook his fists and smashed things
about, while we children huddled under beds
afraid to come out.
Mother would pour another round trying to
appease him by drinking as his companion.
She thought she knew him, but was in denial,
a captive by his hypnotic and infamous reputation.
He would scream at her and run down her past
and threaten to kill us all if we didn’t accept him at last.
I vowed to kill him when I grew up from being a lad,
he saw the anger in my eyes and didn’t care because
he knew I was just that a lad.
But vengeance was mine and the clock struck the
time when I was nineteen and he was much older,
he felt my anger and barely survived in a hospital
where nobody cared if he lived or died.
So cry me a river, I never forgot and spit on his
grave for what he had wrought where to Hell he
was lowered to serve his time for the sins he
committed wreaking havoc on us lot.
© Copyright Vincent Moore 2013. All Rights Reserved.