The Beating
Copyright 2013 Gordon Kuhn
All rights reserved.

Fall’s shadows had lengthened on the wall
When came an evening cooling with contempt,
And dinner left uncooked upon the stove
My mother beaten sat one floor below.
Seated, bruised with a teary stare
Up at the man who called her a whore
As wet trails ran the length of her face
To land upon the floor as if disgraced
And as he hovered over his bleeding wife
A noise, a sound, turned him around
He turned to see me on the stair
Too late, the evil deed did he share
Too late, the damage killed the spell
Too late, to stop the loss of innocence
My childhood ended there that night
Amid her blood and tears that fell. 9/20/2013