Turning, twisting, and wrenching away,
Dissolve, then reappear.
Not in Chalot or a viper pit,
Your room, top floor, in the rear.
A place bereft of childish joy,
A place that’s filled with tears.
Where ice cream tastes like castor oil
And probity disappears.
Your very private kinder-hell,
A too-exclusive club.
No dogs or girls may enter here.
No laughter and no love.
You’ve built a wall with anger boards
Nailed in place with fear.
You slip inside that secret space
And then you disappear.
I climb the stairs.
I speak your name.
But no trace can I find
Of the child I once called happiness,
Of the boy who once was mine.