"1953"
I buried my head beneath the pillow,
pulled the woolen shield tight around me,
listened through the door.
I counted silence, hoping the monotony
of numbers would lull me to sleep. But then
he bellowed and she screamed.
Their feet thudded across the wooden floor.
I could almost see the cigarettes tracing
loops of anger.
Someone threw a plate against the wall,
and someone else followed with a fist.
A window slammed shut.
Suddenly one of them complained,
"We never used to fight like this before
he was born."
Later, after they retired to their room,
the pressure in my bladder became
the loudest voice.
I climbed out of bed. I dared not venture
down the hall, lest I be captured
and punished. I went to my toy box.
I raised the lid extra slow to make sure
the hinges wouldn't cry. Then I took out
the jar and unscrewed the top.
© 2008 Fred Longworth
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