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BEHIND CLOSED DOORS
It would happen like this.
Mom would intone my brother's sentence.
'Wait in your room
until your father comes home!'
All I can remember
are your eyes
meeting mine in secret pride.
You took your place
on the bed
Not begging
Not crying.
Then came the drag
of the tires on the driveway.
The clack of the door
Our father whistled
as he climbed the stairs
But mom had news for him.
She was an emotional slut,
squandering her 100 watt smile on strangers.
We held no illusion of flight
from the house, where love
was the language you spoke in
when company was near.
We poured our light down
into her darkness
and she repaid us
with vengeful betrayals
He would appear
at our bedroom door
solemn, unflinching.
I want to forget those times
you were flayed
by his thick leather belt
as I sobbed
against the closed bedroom door
Take me away
from hearing
and knowing
over and over again,
the wet crack
of the belt on your back
.I loved you best
when our Ozymandias father,
wiped the spit from his lips,
and called you son.
Jude Neale
Email: Jude Neale
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