My Dad Needs Me

My dad needs me.
He’s told me again and again,
how when he was my age
his dad almost killed him.

He needs me, he tells me,
when he turns red and pants like our dog,
and when he yells that I don’t love him,
and he rips my doll’s arm off.

He loves me, I know that he does.
Sometimes his tears run into my ears
when he covers me with his hot body
and he says, “Oh, yes, oh yes.”

When he gets the wooden spoons
he says I’ve been bad,
and as a good dad he will teach
me what it is to be a good woman.

Did he teach this to my mom, too?
Is that why she doesn’t come home?
I know he’s careful not to hit my face.
He promised I will always be beautiful.

When my new sister came to live here,
he started teaching her, too,
but she didn’t learn very fast—
she is only three, and at first she cried.

I woke up to hear her midnight lesson,
the wooden spoon sounds like a wet ball bouncing.
My new sister must be learning now—
she is so quiet and Dad is too.

In the morning, my new mom screams and screams.
I just want to go to school.
Dad says, “Oh my god!”
but I know he doesn’t mean it.