You are just a fleck of foam
floating on a frothing sea of father’s fickle fury.
Your feet are flayed to fresh flesh and
you have long since fallen to the final floor.
The fleeting fire of your failing eyes flashes
finely then finishes with a few feeble sputters.
For faith fails as you confront the fuming face of fate, its
fat fingers fastened firmly round you
poor feckless thing.