The StepfatherA Poem by David Lewis PagetSince ever he came to live at our house We’d never felt safe or sure, So late at night we’d turn out the light And block up the bedroom door, We’d slide a heavy old chest in place That he never could push right in, We knew, with just one look at his face, The man was riddled with sin.
Our mother, bless her, was long divorced, Our father was gone for good, He never called, and we were appalled That he never came when he should. ‘Why do you need that man in the house,’ I said, ‘You have me and Drew.’ But she would smile, ‘Well, it’s been a while, And there’s things that you can’t do.’
We didn’t know what she meant back then For we were too young to know, How a woman’s won, or she bears a son, Where a man and a woman go. We only knew he was far too nice When he first came into our home, His creepy fingers, they felt like ice So we wished he’d leave us alone.
He’d wander about the house by night, We’d hear him mounting the stair, And feigning sleep, not let out a peep When we heard him breathe out there. He’d come to a halt by our bedroom door And stand and listen, we thought, The tears in my brother’s eyes would glisten In fear that we’d be caught.
His frightful stare gave a mighty scare When he fixed on Drew and I, Our mother said it was really sad That he had just one good eye. His other eye, it was made of glass He had lost that one in the war, It never closed, so we both supposed That he slept, but still he saw.
Our house lay at the top of a hill And a milk cart stood outside, Its great cartwheels were covered in steel And to hold it, it was tied. One day we loosened the holding chain As he came out into the street, And watched the cart as it rolled on down, Knocking him off his feet.
A wheel rolled slowly over his head As he gave a deathly sigh, His brains on the road were grey and red And the pressure popped his eye. It lay and stared at the two of us, Was accusing us then, and still, The memory sits and stays with us For we’d never meant to kill.
Our mother wailed, and our mother mourned And she kept his one glass eye, She propped it up on the mantelpiece ‘So he’s with us still,’ she’d sigh. Drew would shudder and I would shake As it followed us round the room, We both grew up with a complex that We’ll never get over soon.
David Lewis Paget © 2015 David Lewis PagetFeatured Review
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