Spectacles

Far as I know, losing a second pair of eyeglasses
isn't a crime; worst case it's a mortal sin.
I'd been awaiting my penance all day.  
Still, the beating came as a surprise.

Mother met Dad as he walked in the door,
serving him her anger like an hors d'oeuvre.  
Mother then hustled me into the living room,
there to have a "talk" with Dad.  

There was a mask of anger on Dad's face.
I became instantly alarmed.
Usually, Dad was the calm one.  
Doubtless he felt Mother's eyes upon him.

Dad was sitting cross-legged on the floor.
He motioned me to him. I approached slowly.
Reaching him, Dad pulled me down onto his lap.
Blows rained down on me from every angle.

When the beating stopped, while I was crying,
surprisingly, I had not been truly hurt.
Dad, by then becalmed, began talking to me.
He explained the financial burden of lost glasses.

Dad's talk caused dinner to be over-cooked,
bringing Mother to a hard boil (again).
During dinner Dad was especially quiet.
Mother was satisfied that justice had been done.

I still recall that day in crisp detail:
the waiting, the thrashing, and the talk.
Mostly, I recall Mother's complicity.
Yet, an inner voice calls out to me, "let it go."