It was a night when my father was drunk
he wanted to kill us and our mother, because
although he was always a caring and loving man
and loved us very much, this night he had a machete
in hand and started lifting it and swinging it, again and again,
yelling madly with his face flushed red with rage
we never saw before or again. We scampered to one of
the bedrooms screaming and too afraid to come out and look at him.
Eventually the cops came and they calmed him down and
the traumatic memory buried itself deep in my mind forever.