Short Pants

I don’t remember my exact age, maybe  three, four,

but I do remember that I was still in short pants.

I was on the dirt road, in front of our house

Playing like I was a soldier.

I vaguely knew the boy,

probably a friend of my brothers I surmised.

He took my hand and led me toward

a nearby house, inside to a bedroom.

I remember the room well. The bedspread

was white with tiny pink and yellow flowers.

And the wallpaper was hanging down in one corner,

Like an elephants ear.

Suddenly, he was on the bed with me,

his hand up my pants leg, touching me.

Alarm springs up in my mind.

I struggle against his damp,

sour-smelly body as he fondles me.

There is shouting.

It is my brother.

He picks me up, leaves the house,

and takes me home.

2 thoughts on “Short Pants

  1. Thank you for your response and sensitivity. Yes, the consequences of that event set the course of my life in a manner such that the consequences have been devastating for decades.

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