Panzer-man, panzer-man, O You--
Not God but a swastika
So black no sky could squeak through.
Every woman adores a Fascist,
The boot in the face, the brute
Brute heart of a brute like you.
You stand at the blackboard, daddy,
In the picture I have of you,
A cleft in your chin instead of your foot,
But no less a devil for that, no not
Any less the black man who
Bit my pretty red heart in two.
I was ten when they buried you.
At twenty I tried to die
And get back, back, back to you.
I thought even the bones would do.
Sylvia Plath was actually only eight when her father died, but ten is chosen for several reasons, partially because it is the first of a triad of major death-related incidents that occurred at ten year intervals: her father’s death, her suicide attempt at twenty, and her successful suicide at age thirty, as well as the last composition of the poems which make up  Ariel , her final book of poems.
Daddy