He remembered the phrase

He remembered the phrase

‘I’ll give you the rough side of my hand…’

One among many

He failed to understand,

But heard so often,

When grown ups were giants,

And a father’s words were law.

Voices heard from behind a door

Sent shivers down the spine,

Loosened bladders,

And every time,

He was the one, who crossed the line,

Felt the flat of a hand,

Was told to stand

In the corner.

And hold a book

In outstretched arms.

Sometimes he was caned on

Fleshy palms.

His knuckles raw,

When given what for,

With a ruler’s edge.

For using his left hand.

Told he was evil.

A devils child,

For not using his right.

Locked in a cupboard,

Kept out of sight,

And out of mind.

Children should be seen

And not heard.

Dragged out

By the hair,

Or an ear,

To stand in front

Of the class

As he wet himself.

On days like these

He was grounded

For bringing disgrace

To the family.

He fell out of a tall tree,

Broke an arm,

Stole from a farm,

Watched as a cornfield burned,

And his older brother

Was spurned,

By a raven haired girl,

On a hay wain.

What days were these

When looking back

He understood

Such memories made him

He had survived his childhood

And maybe.

Even the bad times were good.