by Roger Robinson
She'd probably had a hard day at the clinic
with children screaming from the fear of injections.
So she wouldn't want to waste minutes of relaxing time
to find out who broke her favourite coffee cup
So she'd wrap my father's scuffed leather belt firmly
around her knuckles and say to us that we'd be beat
to within an inch of our lives or until one
of us spoke up whichever would come first.
Then she'd quickly grab any one of us and raise
the belt strap threateningly, at which point we'd all
expose the guily culprit with pointed fingers
who'd then get several belt straps around his thighs.
My mum was short and stocky and had tremendous
triceps that were a mixture of fat and muscle.
And when she beat the hanging flesh would roll around
with the power of a crashing tsunami wave.
Then she'd confuse us all by saying we shouldn't be
sissy tell tales and give us each one strap of the belt.
Last updated March 07, 2023