The Beating

Closure can sometimes avoid you. You have to deal the best you can. I've made mistakes and continue to do so. This is the first time I've written about this.

 

The Beating

 

 

They buried him the other day.

I just found out.

 

A newspaper obituary coldly tries to tell the details.

Great memories of a great man whom all that knew him would miss dearly.

Stories of his work and charity were shared and shared again.

 

His kind heart and gentleness would be greatly missed.

His work ethic and determination would be hard to replace.

His friendship and guidance would be impossible to duplicate.

 

Right now reading this, I’m praying.

I’m not even sure if I believe in God, and yet I sit here praying with all of my strength.

Praying he burns in hell.

 

*

Memories escape from burial and feelings explode from within.

Time melts into the past and the wounds lay bare once more.

*

 

There was a boy of six maybe seven years old.

He had a young mother not quite thirty, so beautiful and so sad.

Divorce leaves no money and little education leaves few good options.

Then she met him.

 

He gave comfort and affection to them both.

He gave a home and the security they had been missing so.

He gave bikes and fish tanks and advice that seemed so wise.

The young mother not quite thirty so beautiful and so very happy.

A boy of six maybe seven years old smiles by her side.

 

For a reason lost in time, tonight the young boy sleeps in their bed.

The boy is all smiles Mom’s got the best blanket and under that pillow it waits.

A gun, a real live gun, so shiny and big just like on TV. It is awesome.

Dreams of being a police man, of saving the day play larger than life in the boy’s head.

 

No one knows why, he came in to make sure the boy was asleep.

A real mystery within the question of why but that night of all nights,

it was important that the boy be asleep.

Caught up in a dream the boy rolled over at the wrong moment.

 

A fist shatters the dreams.

The boy screams awake in unholy pain, lost in confusion, and full of fear.

The more the boy screams, the harder the blows connect

 

 

She tries to stop it.

That’s when he gets really mad.

 

Through bruised and swollen eyes, the boy watches the thrashing.

Blood, her blood, rains all over her clothes all over her coat.

Down onto the floor and over into the bathroom he pummels her without mercy.

The gun, how do you use a gun?

 

The cops were never called.

Instead neighboring TVs or stereos suddenly got louder.

Necessary it seemed in order to drown out the noise and cover the guilt of inaction.

There was no white knight on the way.

God, please tell me how to use that gun.

 

Somehow she grabs the boy and runs.

Runs out into the chilly night and never looks back.

 

A disheveled woman in a long brown coat covered in blood.

A little boy in pajamas and no shoes covered in blood.

The maniac follows slowly in his large tan car along the road’s shoulder.

The passenger door open as he screams for her to get in.

Like a worn out scene from a bad movie

 

Details are lost after that.

But everything changed.

One little man’s rage destroyed the bond that’s supposed to be unbreakable.

His anger killed the trust and faith of a son in his mother.

*

Fury builds in the man that I’ve become.

I’ve been cheated and it pisses me off.

I wanted to go to the service. I wanted to scream to them all of what he did.

I wanted to make them curse his name.

 

All I can do now is hug my wife.

Maybe I should called mom.

 

They buried him the other day.

I pray he burns in hell.

Reviews

[Sheila Kline]

OMG..........this is absolutely, heartbreakingly sad, yet told so well that I hung onto every word of it! God bless you, and all that you have had to endure........this is you? Your note at the top indicates that it is.
I lost a beautiful 16 year old in an automobile accident, and his brother has never been able to deal with it...so sad are events that forever change our lives! Times does not always heal pain such as this! May you come to understand a bit of it!
With Friendship,
Sheila..............a fellow West Virginian
I am in Bluefield, Mercer County

[Salvatore Buttaci]

Wow, Kevin! That's heavy stuff but a well-told narrative poem that keeps the reader rooted to his chair.

I can see why you are the featured poet!
Good going.

Sal