beating the rug

I beat the throw rug
with a broom.
it's what my mother used to do
in the back yard,
tossing it over the chain
link fence,
keeping it away from the dog.
how she would beat
that rug
with the broom,
over and over again,
clouds of dust rising,
the crumbs and dirt falling into
the blue green grass.
it seemed as if she was doing
more than just
beating the rug, I felt then,
as I do now
that it had something to do
with my father
and his lying ways.
I know that feeling
now,
as I beat the hell out of
my own rug.
I can't hit it hard enough.