I need not talk, I think my silence says it all.
You have this look of guilt as he shouts at her,
Her disobedience stabbing his pride
He called her name once,
Third time. She does not budge.
Being ignored, like being spat on in disgust.
He grabs her arm, not as a father would.
I continue to read.
Occasionally, I look up, four more stops, and we part ways.
You rock your new born to sleep,
you have a baby with this man.
Two stops before we part.
I close my book.
She is not your daughter,
You remain seated, rocking your baby as he holds your hand,
“You fucking piss me off, watch when we get home” he says,
Trying to calm him, you say “it’s okay babe”
My stop approaches, I leave, thinking that your child too will grow.