What now?
I've always come to expect another bruise,
Whenever you show up.
What are you going to use this time?
Your fist, foot, or the bat?
What have I done this time?
Did I look at you the wrong way?
Or did I insult your intelligence?
I never seem to understand what I did,
Or how to fix it.
So now you're back,
Your shadow looming over me ,
Blocking all light from my world.
Apparently, this time, I have existed.
I swallow and hold my breath,
Readying myself for a beating I don't deserve.
I'm laying still, looking at a face that I've seen forever.
As you raise your fist, preparing yourself for many more,
I say, "I'm sorry, Dad."
And I crumble as your fist smashes into my stomach.
