PROMPT
A fractured skull, traces of beatings on his back,
This is the end of a father's fucking abuse.
A mother cries, the child lies in blood,
An ambulance siren is heard, the door opens.
Late afternoon, in one of the Polish families,
Children sit over books, the father walks around with a belt around him.
A murderer's grimace on his face, two per mille in blood,
A new, bloody idea smoulders in his empty palm.
He spots one of the children, calls them to him,
Then he hits them in the face, as hard as he can.
The child falls to the floor, blood spurts from his nose,
Like a fountain, he looks closely.
He says it's for life or just in case,
He hits them again, this time with his knee,
The child lies motionless, the mother and sister run up,
Unfortunately too late - another child dies.
