I was beaten by my father.

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A Poem about Abuse


I was beaten by my father.
Why, papa, why?

I was beaten by my father.
Checkers, tennis.
You name it.
Horse AND pig.
Run Yourself Ragged.
Tri-ominoes.
Balderdash, the hilarious bluffing game.
No quarter asked or given.
Scotland Yard -- which clearly states on the box
"A compelling detective game for ages 10-adult."
Yet I was compelled to play it at nine.
I could not help my little brother,
who was yet a tender seven,
And was often beaten badly.
I still cry when I hear the pop
Of a pop-a-matic bubble
Leaking my insides like a broken plastic sand-timer.
Father had no patience
For Risk or Monopoly, at least,
And he wouldn't play us in Atari.
The joystick conveniently made his hand hurt,
But we were used to the pain.
He would beat us savagely
Even in games based mostly on chance,
Hurting us all the more.
Mom would just watch helpless
Making a casserole,
Laughing
When we would joke to cover our suffering.

I was beaten by my father,
Who claimed often that he loved me.

I was beaten by my father.
Why, papa, why?

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