Jesus Christ! The first words I heard,
As my new step Dad leaned over me, his grey eyes
Peering into my bloodied face.
He lifted my head out of the pile of broken milk bottles,
Let’s get you inside and clean you up.
Sponging blood off my cheekbones,
Gently checking for torn skin,
He had told me not to sit on that rotten rail
I waited for the scolding I deserved,
That gruff voice to remind me,
To complain about twelve- year-olds
Never listening,
Knowing it all.
But I saw him that day as
I looked at his face.
Those grey eyes no longer steely
His voice changed from scolding to soft,
You okay, honey?
My step-Dad.
My Dad.