This Hurts Me More than It Hurts You (Day 11)

(The 11th day of National Poetry Writing Month.)

  

It’s not the fear of God

I want to hammer

into my children–

God is too loving,

full of forgiveness

and paternal care.

No, I want my kids

to evacuate 

in terror

at the infernal sadism

awaiting those who 

eat too many cereal bars

and color on the tablecloth.

Tears must pour

like monsoon rains

from clenched-shut 

and covered

eyes

that will never not see

a scorched shadow

of the punishment awaiting

the recalcitrant souls

who empty shampoo bottles

into the bathtub 

two days in a row.

May the dark of night

hold untold evils

for those who eat

candy for breakfast

and steal 

Mommy’s Tic-Tacs;

may each sound portend the

cloven-footed approach

of Satan himself, 

thirsty for the blood of

little boys who

don’t flush or

wash their hands

and little girls who

refuse to finish 

the tiny portion 

of asparagus

they’ve been given

at dinner.

Only when screams 

rise like flames 

into the dark night sky

and appeals for mercy

escape heaving chests

between hysterical sobs

will my fury abate;

only then will I

lean down

inches from the

howling agony

of their tiny 

tormented faces

and say

Next time

you’ll listen

when I tell you

not to drink juice

in the living room. 

 

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About semiblind

Bringing you stark existentialism since 1981.
This entry was posted in anger, despair, family, fear, NaPoWriMo, people, poetry, religion and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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