To Dad

Your sorry the morning after
But what about the night before?
Harsh words, cruel hands
Why is it that you choose to talk
Only after you've had a few drinks
The only memories of your hands I have
Are of pain
And your words, cutting even deeper
Creating a pain that lingers
Always trying to pretend
That we're a perfect family
Do the neighbors hear the shouting?
Do my friends suspect anything?
No, of course not
We just keep playing the part
Of the bruised and battered
Perfect Family