Echoes of Childhood

 

Where are they now, these people who loved me?

Both of them dead, and that’s how it should be.

He went early, as his heart was cursed.

Her end was painful, a fate well deserved.

 

Six foot five, full of Guiness and fight,

Five foot four, full of vinegar and spite.

Belligerent bully, with fists of iron,

Constant critic with no shoulder to cry on.

I hear my six-year-old self. Crying, crying…

 

Long distance Father on jobs shifting steel,

Driving his Volvo, almost asleep at the wheel.

Absent Mother working part-time at the local,

Tending drunks on her own, getting angry and vocal.

I hear my eight-year-old self. Pleading, pleading…

 

Gattling gun volleys of verbal violence,

Prolonged periods of insidious silence.

Repeated outbursts of furious feuding,

Ensuing intervals of black-hearted brooding.

I hear my ten-year-old self. Screaming, screaming…

 

Acid allegations of adulterous assignations,

Desperate denials of flirtatious fascinations.

Lust fueled lies of a selfish strayer,

Rushed relocation of besotted betrayer.

I hear my twelve-year-old self. Questioning, questioning…

 

Countless beatings with his belts or their buckles,

Pointless rows resolved with a slap or his knuckles.

Her off the scene, set up home with her lover.

Divide up the kids, setting brother against brother.

I hear my fourteen-year-old self. Surrendering, surrendering…

 

Staying out of the house to avoid frenzied rage,

Stand up for yourself, you’re a man at this stage.

Never show your fear, pack away your emotion.

You’re not welcome here, find a place of your own son.

I hear my sixteen-year-old self. Cursing, cursing…

 

Where are they now, these people who loved me?

They’re locked in my mind and continue my purgatory.

I find them in dreams, when I lay down my head,

Echoes of the past that refuse to stay dead.