Three-Year-Old with Dad

[UselessBlueprint]

Three-Year-Old with Dad

Coffee shop public, crowded murmur, wondering 
what below is.  What's under there?  Every stranger's face. (I'm actually fine with "what below is." A touch of young voice without being unreadable)
What's behind these faces, Dad?
My missing pants. (I've only gone through this a couple of times, but the above lines feel disconnected from everything here and below. I can try to connect some dots here, but it feels forced and the image ends up with some ugly appendages that don't seem to belong.)

“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. ("asked in stone" is an odd phrase. IMO, needlessly awkward. It doesn't contribute to the voice and it just gets me hung up on the phrase, not the tone it should represent)
“No.”
“Do you have on pants?”
“Yes, Daddy.”
“Time out!” (No major objections for this section, it serves its purpose well enough.)

I can’t say the shame,
only write today

a chair flew across the room, screams, "Liar!"
And screaming, and suffocating hands,
and stone hands, and hands
I can't stand covering tears and gasps,
hands over my face, suffocating masks. 
"I don't has on pants, Dad."

Coffee shop public, I look around, wonder what below is. 
They don't know what's under here.  What's under there?  I wonder.
"Your child is so cute," a woman says, as she passes (just a nit, but I think "lady" instead of "woman" might fit the voice better here)
“What a great dad, bringing his child to the coffee shop,” her friend agrees.
"Thanks for the moothie, Dad."

I have very few issues with how the piece is written, but I would like to touch on some comments from other critiques. Cadence has a nice interpretation, but the idea behind it is not a new one, and if this poem is trying to convey something along those lines, I think it fails at doing so. RiverNotch's note that it feels autobiographical and Bueller's comments should underscore that point (if not, I've done it here as well). There is ambiguity, and unfortunately, it seems that the ambiguity may be in the wrong places.

I do get the feeling of an abusive parent, and I expect this is with intent, even if not the absolute intent. As RiverNotch says, I am not able to pull out many metaphors. It reads literally to me (more so than autobiographical). As an excerpt from an abused child's life, it works, but it works with limited poetry. As a poem on its own, I think it fails. I can't reach a more effective critique because the absolute intent seems to have gotten lost somewhere.