Thursday, July 15, 2010

Milk, Bread, Matchbox

I could feel his eyes on me as I walked to the shop

Coins jingled in my school shorts

Darkness was falling

It was my favourite time of the day

Milk, bread, matchbox

I whispered over and over again

I was six

I could hear his stride behind me

I could feel his step in my core

Everyone else seemed to fade

The sky turned a notch darker

My step was suddenly faster

My young body was slowly running out of breath

As I turned the last corner

His hand fell on my shoulder

I felt something sharp dig in my ribs

‘Don’t you dare scream’, his hoarse voice croaked

As he pulled down my grey school shorts

A searing pain shot up my spine

And I remembered my mother’s now useless warnings

‘Nobody should ever touch you back there’

Her sweet voice rang clear as spring water

My body was painfully rigid

Fighting the searing knife

Tightening, Fighting

Fighting, Tightening

I could hear the little boy’s voice




As he limped painfully back home

I could hear the coins jingling

In his grey school shorts




Darkness had fallen

(c) PoP 14 Jul 2010

1 comment:

Léo Santos said...

Verses strong! But well written!