Daddy Taught Him Often Poem by Glenn Bagshaw

I study his face with keenest concern
and small, he's small-I see when we've met.
May his fear, once set churning, not return
nor should that brute be viewed as martinet.
The child's own bruises are medals of shame,
and he now hugs the toy his father gave.
Yes, here it seems floppy-eared and tame,
so quiet, loving and will behave
as weary children need. He can't resist;
much like when daddy lifts that fist.