Willowy punishment I’m forced to prepare from the swamps outside to make a lattice work from my baby flesh as I lay staked to the bed to remove any chance of escape from my step-father’s entertainment which is always left open to the public eye of the family.
My stomach is as empty as my mind as I count the blows - a mathematical education at the tender age of five: Whi-tsch, “Don’t”; Whi-tsch, “Lemme”;Whi-tsch, “Hear”; Whi-tsch, “You”; Whi-tsch, “Cry”; Whi-tsch, “Again”; Whi-tsch, “You”; Whi-tsch, “High”; Whi-tsch, “Yella”; Whi-tsch, “Nigga”!
Each slash across my backside.
Every miss across my back.
I don’t know what number comes next so it’s time to wait until he’s satisfied and can shower after a hard day’s work while I hide all traces and settle down for lunch.
Another book to fulfill my needs - the glue tastes oddly sweet.