poetry

The Door Is Maybe Locked. {poetry}

 

She is
young here

She is pregnant

The serious part of
summer and she is listening and
he is younger and the
laughter from across the street

The door locked but the
window and through it the
sound of laughter

The sound of stones hitting glass
hitting the side of the house and she is
summer and he is afraid and
she is crying

She is summer because she
always is and he is
six? Is seven?
Is on his knees and
the older one is laughing

Whips out his dick, says
Suck it, says Just suck it, says It
feels fucking great and he
smiles like blood is the only
other option and have I
told you this before?

I think so

It’s the same story, it’s the
same house, the same
tangled lot of stunted trees and
scrub brush and he’s
young here and he’s summer
because he’s summer and
so it must be important

And the laughter
and that she is crying

She is pregnant and they are
hidden out in the trees in
the scrub brush just
beyond the yard

They are turning the handle
but the door is locked

The door is maybe
locked and he is eight

She is waking him up in
a different room in the
same house, is saying
Come to bed, I’m
lonely and she is someone
else but she is always summer

She is always someone else
and he is always younger and
she is always summer

Is saying Hold me, is saying
Like this and Like this and
Like this and he can
smell her skin

He can smell the fire

He can hear the laughter

Older one says You’re
already on your knees, says
Don’t be such a fucking baby

Says You know you want to
but he’s young here
he’s younger than the other
ones, the youngest, the only
one on his knees and too
young to know anything

And he’s looking over his
shoulder at the back door but
the door is locked and
she’s laughing

Says Relax

Says It feels good, right?
And the smell of her skin and
then the back door which
they’ve forgotten, locked?

Sound of scratching of
metal on glass, of giggling, and
he understands the concept
of animals caught in traps

He knows about fear and
he knows about walls and
she is laughing against
his neck and he can
hear the voices

He can taste his fear

Summer and just the two of
them and she is saying
move closer

She is saying It feels nice, right?
But he is listening for
the sound of fire

He is dreaming he is in his
own house and then he is
waking up

He is waking up in his own
house after dreaming but
nothing is familiar

Everything is fear

And she is young and he is
younger and both of
them are afraid

One of them is pregnant but
one of them is laughing

Says nothing, just looks
at him trapped and with the
smell of panic

Says Just close your eyes and
see how good it feels and
he is here

He is waiting for the
future but he is here

He is just waiting for whatever
comes through the door.

***

John Sweet sends greetings from the rural wastelands of upstate NY. He is a firm believer in writing as catharsis, and in the continuous search for an unattainable and constantly evolving absolute truth. His latest poetry collections include A Flag on Fire Is a Song of Hope (2019 Scars Publications) and A Dead Man, Either Way (2020 Kung Fu Treachery Press).

***

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