A Coming of Rage
Thomas Merton Brightman
All rights reserved

Father shot Teddy, my pet beagle
He shot my pet rooster, Rudy
His message not lost

Done with that kid?
Take him out and shoot him
Dad was done with me before birth

Father liked his rage
Momentarily freed him of his cage
He seemed to enjoy my terror
Whilst deflecting his errors

Everyone appeared a threat to father
Yet, I was the one against whom he railed
I was between him and mother
Other threats by comparison paled

Father put himself in his cage
Not I
Yet I get the blame, cathect his rage
Never even a tie

Shook from the tension, brought to stutter
Feared his rage
The torment was utter
He became my cage

Tired of waiting for a whipping
Poked sticks into his cage
Too exhausting waiting for his choosing
Getting it over became sage

Could I survive to tell the tale
Come that fateful day...?
Larger and desperate, thirteen and hale
Someone was about to pay

Pitched battle inevitably came
Grabbed a knife in the frenzy of it all
Held my ground even when I couldn't aim
Back pressed to the kitchen wall

He veers away just as fate is to disclose
Whose eyes will forever close
Surviving one's father
A coming of rage