By day a foreman who drinks beer in his truck
Checking on others as he slowly gets drunk.
By night a terror, a menace, a sinister thing
Molesting a little girl and damaging her being.
Mary Hartman Mary Hartman plays on the tv
When he says come sit with me.
A big, brown leather reclining chair
Is big enough to gather me there.
“Let me rub your back while you rest on my chest”
His hands find their way to my non-existent breasts.
Something hard presses upon my thigh
He releases it and places my hand with sigh.
I knew this was going to happen
I have trained myself to become slacken.
I begin to cry before it’s actually in
Already hoping for a quick end.
I am 7 years old and the routine is habitual
I want to make him stop this nightly ritual.
But I also want someone to love me, you see
And our other times can be heavenly.
Loading up wood or caring for cattle
It’s all done in peace without a battle.
I love how he needs all of my help
He takes me on trips with sweet rewards dealt.
Some candy, some peanuts, a nice cold root beer
Hunting and learning how to dress a killed deer.
Small things really, but I am so hungry for love
I willingly lend him my hand like a glove.
Mary Hartman Mary Hartman is our special show
It’s when he wants to get down to business below.
Now later than 40 odd years
I still cannot stand the smell of stale beer.
I have trouble sleeping or even being in bed
Due to the visions and memories running ‘round in my head.
He got away with it, free and clean
My mother found out, but thought court would be mean.
And now I don’t know whom I despise more
Him, her, or me (the little whore).