You're splashing the kitchen
with a happy laugh
and I imagine that your daddy
is smiling down at
your little girl face
or maybe instead
looking away to wipe down
the microwave plate.
Other fathers are cussing
and drunken, sudsing in
jowls of hollow bitters,
and grabbing their
daughters strongly,
too harshly, at the
delicate
wrists.
Oh, to wash them down,
oh, to rinse away the
residue of daughterly
tears. Oh, to smite
the daddys who drink
and make their case
on six-packs, bellowing
epithets of authority
while they lose control.
copyright 2007 tammy melody gomez
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