Our friend Casey LaFrance is back with a poem about an abuser and the scars she left. A native of the North Georgia mountains. Casey teaches political science and public administration in Illinois, where he has a loving wife, two catkids, and many cat-themed t-shirts. His poetry has been published here and also in Unfettered Muse.

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Pedigree Dogs

By Casey LaFrance

I remember rubber wrestlers
and orange slices on your
days off, when you'd jerk me
out of school. Problem was,
pops, you seemed to forget
I was there after the sausage
biscuits with mustard and
the dime store trip. You
went to work on cars and
watch Don drink beer and
curse through his toothless
mouth while I sat in fear
of this woman who beat me
who drank and drank until
she felt like going outside
to watch me ride the big
wheel while she communed with
nature or god or whatever she
worshipped. I saw her attempt
to get right in the end. I saw
her smile and cry and tell pity-tales
one after the other. I felt bad for her,
but I don't think I ever forgave her.
I still have scars from the cast
iron skillet and the
heavy old telephone,
but momma can't understand
why you didn't cry at her
funeral.