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Beaten Walls MAG
Signal my stop.
Snickers creep
up my back and burn
to red blushes on my cheek.
My feet guide my eyes down
the steps and across
the grassy dirt.
The door, screenless, hangs
open, snagging
my pant’s leg. I step
inside to a clean mess.
My mother gives
me a hug and passes
me my brother.
His slippery, bare
stomach tags
my own. Her eyes, emptied,
tell me exactly what I want to know.
His, my dad’s,
promises were ignored
like always.
© Anonymous
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