poem in process

From inside his shoes

His hand going up

signaling STOP,

ineffectively.

Her voice piercing skin, quills

scripting down to boy's memory

when he forgot to close the chickens.

His father waking him at night

beating and beating his lower back

'til vertebra fused.

Hurt in the aim of words

as soon as he entered the trailer.

He had to hunker down

mh