by JLB

“Get up to your room and there you will stay
Until your father comes home at the end of the day!”
I ran to my room, gasping for breath,
Praying for a miracle, hoping for death.
I knew I shouldn't have said all those bad things.
I knew that my bottom was soon going to sting!
The sky was getting dark, the time was getting late.
As my father drove up, I couldn't escape my fate.
I heard muffled voices in the kitchen downstairs
As I sat cringing in my soft beanbag chair.
His steps down the hall were deliberate and slow.
And I sat there quietly; I had no place to go.
Stomp, stomp, stomp, up the stairs he came.
My heart began racing like a speeding freight train.
Then he was in the doorway, his face stern and severe.
I swallowed hard because I had a great deal to fear!
In his hand he held THE BRUSH; flat and made of wood.
Oh, how I would change the past, if only I could.
I looked at the brush with anxiety and fright.
I guessed I'd be sleeping on my stomach that night!
My father pulled out my sturdy desk chair.
And I knew that I didn't have one single prayer.
“Take off your pants and your underwear, too.
And I'm going to tell you what I'm going to do.
I'll teach you a lesson in manners and respect.
This will be a lesson you'll not soon forget.”
I trembled with fear as I undid my pants.
“Please, please, give me one more chance.”
My father's eyes narrowed as my pants hit the floor.
Then he went over and closed my bedroom door.
“I know what you said; you mother told me.
Now come over here and get over my knee.”
Reluctant was I but I had to obey.
There was nothing more I could think of to say.
I lay across his lap and stared at the floor.
“This is going to hurt deep down to your core!
How dare you speak to your mother with that tone!?!
I won't allow that, even when you're grown!
I think you should be filled with very great shame.
But then you have only your own self to blame.”
With that, the brush fell with a resounding whack!
And I sucked in my breath at the shock of the smack.
He raised it up high and it fell once again.
Now I let out a cry of excruciating pain!
My hand tried to protect my bottom's attack,
But my father secured it to the small of my back.
My feet started to kick as I wiggled and squirmed.
My bottom was really becoming quite red and quite warm!

A Father gives his son a lesson

The brush was relentless; the brush wouldn't stop.
And all I could do was writhe and twist and flop.
My father's strong arm held me firmly in place.
Tears poured from my eyes and ran down my face.
Harder and faster, the brush found its mark.
I continued to cry and to squeal and to bark!
I kicked and I screeched and I wiggled some more.
By this time, my bottom was really quite sore.
Many times that brush fell and hit my poor bum
Which now felt it was blazing as hot as the sun!
The last few strokes were the hardest yet.
This was a lesson I would not soon forget.
And then he was done; his task was complete.
He put the brush down and I got to my feet.
With his eyes so stern, he shook his finger and said,
“Dry up those sobs and you get ready for bed.
If you EVER say anything like that again,
I'll come back and give your butt more pain!
Is that clear or should I remind you once more?”
I shook my head and looked down at the floor.
He took the brush and walked out of the room,
And left me to wallow in my personal gloom.