Stepdad Sonnet by Patricia Theriot
(CLOSED)
He drove an old scratched-up maroon Chevy.
Twenty years now, but I check to see who drives.
I block the thoughts with my internal levee.
But my shrink says who talks is who survives.
He would slither into the room at night,
And touch a child he thought was fast asleep.
Protect yourself and pull the blanket tight.
Do not open your eyes or make a peep.
The phone then rang and filled the people’s ears.
He then slithered away to find new prey.
The man denied the claims with empty tears.
I have not seen him since that freedom day.
I’ve had daydreams about bashing his head,
But God will send him soon to Hell instead.
(OPEN)
He used to drive a Chevy truck that was maroon and all scratched-up on the side.
It has been twenty years, but I still look to see if it is him inside the ride.
Sometimes at night I wake up in a sweat to flashbacks I want to forget.
But you “have to talk about it” says the shrink, if you want to conquer it.
He would slither into the room at night,
In the darkness, and out of my mother’s sight.
And touch a child who pretended to be asleep.
Keep your eyes closed, Patty, and don’t make a peep.
The phone rang and every fact was now known.
“She is confused!” and “I would never!” I heard him say through cries.
He slithered away to find another woman to fool into getting her children all alone.
To act like the perfect new dad, to a small child with trusting eyes.
Randomly, as I walk through the aisles at the grocery store,
I think about bashing his head in with a bat.
Then I decide, not today.
I will let God handle that.
ponderwithpatty 