I remember the belts my father wore,
one for church, one for the chores.
And when trouble came my way,
I remember what my father would say,
Son, which of these belts shall I use?
This will hurt me, more than hurt you.
I stood and stared at the belts on the bed,
fear and hate running through my head.
My mother begged and cried at the door
as I stood shaking upon a wooden floor.
He beat and whipped me about the room
until he grew tired or I fell in a swoon.
I remember the belts my father wore,
one for church and one for the chores.
