A stanza for every year
The worst he ever did
was train his dog to bite.
Its dark eyes stared and glimmered,
watching my stumbled steps
as if I were his dinner.
And when I was its teeth tore my flesh
like knives and forks through food –
a bony clamp with no release,
but I never cried out from pain
Mum, too scared to tell, hid
with shadows in corners,
pleading, over and over, please.
The ashtrays smashed on walls
and fell on us like rain.
Cigarettes hissed against my skin,
“Blacks do burn,” he said and laughed –
my brand wagging like his dog’s tail
from the curled corner of his mouth.
They found me daubed with felt-tip pen,
broken, bruised and beaten.
A kick to the stomach poisoned my blood,
finished me off. Job done.
Mum called the flashing lights.
His dog barked & bit her
but he didn’t escape – she held on.
And then they came and cuffed him.
They took him away like he took my life.
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