under a blanket

it is dark.
as the light fades, my fear grows.
a door slams. a voice rings out.
he is home.
inching back along the bed,
i pull my blanket close.
the tv is on.
it sounds like a football game.
in the kitchen i hear a shout,
followed by
a crash.
a slap.
a scream.
the football game is live on tv.
the scene in the kitchen is a rerun.
i wish i had the remote control.
my mother is crying now.
i would press rewind if i could,
when he came in,
i would press stop,
then erase.
i want to go to my mother
but i am afraid.
if i let go of my blanket
and leave my room
he’ll get angry.
i touch the cast on my arm.
remembering the push,
the fall,
the pain,
i pull the blanket over my head
and wait.
soon he will drink too much
and pass out.
then i will slip from under my blanket
and comfort my mother.
in her arms i am safe.
for awhile.
until he awakes.
and the pain begins again.