Work Ethic

He'll talk about the work dear to his heart,
Belt in hand in the old-fashioned garden;
I hear him, sounding cross, my legs apart,
Aware my very stillness makes him harden;
A silence falls between us - he unzips
My skirt - it falls, with panties, to the earth;
I bite my teeth together, then he whips
My derrière; tomorrow could be worse,
But, it is hard to see this though the tears
And burning of his belting - yes, it hurts;
If pain is evanescent, then my fears
Are growing like his lust - when will he spurt  
Unhesitatingly? He'll never shirk
The joy of putting all into his work.