Dad liked showing me off,
boasting about how responsible I was:
Al’s been washing her own hair since she was six,
he’d tell his girlfriends,
like this was something to puff up over
and not a shitting disgrace.
The women would blink, shrug, smile,
until Dad took them upstairs
where they made sounds like
he was hurting them,
which is what I thought was happening,
until I realised
they liked it.
The hurting he was doing.
I’d play outside,
lie looking up at the sky.
Some women stayed a few days,
Tanya weeks,
Carol a whole six months,
but no one stayed as long as Kelly-Anne.
No one else was prepared
to put up with the pain
that came with loving him.
Apart from me.