you beat me

You beat me with your crop for washing my dog, and spilling
my fill of water on the lino matting of my own
home bathroom floor, roaring a paternal
summons to bend my bum in your stupid study.
The dud thuds did little to bruise my body,
blooded often at Eton, where the cane was used,
(abuse for the Lower school which I'd left behind,)
but blinded now were my eyes with tears of rage.
Your kindly patting of a punished pet, vaguely
paging an explanation of release from the throne
of your own private tension, ultimately gave
way to a plaintive rebuke for my calculated sulk.
I'll pick the pieces from the littered floor,
in hopes to make a man of me - or more.