The Door Is Maybe Locked. {poetry}
{source}
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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