Yes, I know...NASTY!! But I was only about four or five years' old at the time. And I remember it as if it were yesterday... no, better than yesterday: my short-term memory is apalling!

Young child's legs
dangling and swinging
from the seats of
hard wooden chairs,
beating the moments of
what seemed like
hour after endless hour

Spent in the local bank

My single mother
would wear her red lipstick
and most pained expression
as she disappeared resignedly
into the closeted office

Summonsed by the bank manager

Later she would re-emerge
looking only slightly relieved,
like she was in reprieve -

And had only been given a beating

* * * *

Eventually he came to call

A fine summer's evening
His engines revving
More lipstick
More pain
He took her out for a drive
How I hated him

Another beating, I thought

* * * *

Just two weeks' later
we learned he had been killed:
His car out of control on a bend
engulfed him in a blazing inferno

But I knew it was me:
my little girl's
bonfire of hatred...

But it was worth it
to see my mother rise
a phoenix from his ashes


He was beaten