Three-Year-Old with Dad

[RiverNotch]

Three-Year-Old with Dad

Coffee shop public, crowded murmur, wondering 
what below is.  What's under there?  Every stranger's face. I do like stuff dealing with the love -- or the hate -- below. Somehow, this piece reminds me of "Blue Velvet" -- and though I wasn't shocked the first time I caught that film, I sure was shocked reading this.
What's behind these faces, Dad?
My missing pants. Lol, what?

“You need pants on to go outside,” he said that day.
“I has pants on, Daddy.”
He looked at my bare legs. “Are you fibbing?” He asked in stone.
“No.”
“Do you have on pants?” Why the inversion?
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Time out!” Uh....

I can’t say the shame,
only write today

a chair flew across the room, screams, "Liar!" Yeah, this escalated quickly.
And screaming, and suffocating hands, Jesus Christ!
and stone hands, and hands I love the repetition of hands.
I can't stand covering tears and gasps, Jesus Christ!
hands over my face, suffocating masks. Maybe the concentration of hands before weakens the repetition of hands here. I'd go repeating masks, instead.
"I don't has on pants, Dad." Inversion still reads weird, although here it's at least rhythmic.

Coffee shop public, I look around, wonder what below is. 
They don't know what's under here.  What's under there?  I wonder. I do think the generally lost and abstract feeling you get here lets the reader breathe -- I mean, Jesus Christ!
"Your child is so cute," a woman says, as she passes 
“What a great dad, bringing his child to the coffee shop,” her friend agrees.
"Thanks for the moothie, Dad." Smoothie? I mean, this might be an attempt at somehow punning smoothie with mouthie, but smoothie already means something other than the drink, and a meaning that's somewhat relevant.

The piece reads autobiographical, which stuns me even more. I don't think I can derive any metaphors here, at least any legitimate, "in the moment" ones -- again, the piece reads autobiographical, so that the child's lie is a true child's lie (I'm sure I'd lied so, when I was younger), the father's escalation is a true escalation, and the metaphorizing, well, it's incidental. I would enjoy this poem, if it wasn't so sudden, so raw -- at least suicide or homicide or even (most poems about) genocide are between understanding beings, and when Gluck talks about wanting to kill an innocent life, she means it nebulously, metaphorically. But this is action, and again, this piece reads autobiographical, so that the action is so real -- definitely not my cup of tea. Or rather coffee?