I was thirteen
The first time they
Left me alone.

Watching a black & white
Frankenstein,
Every sound
A serial killer;
Every imagined whisper
At windows
Dracula or Wolf-man.

My fingers and toes the appetizers
My torso the main course.
My brain a desert
Clogging arteries
Considering
My imagination.

Steve Allen on
The Tonight Show
said, “Smock, smock, smock.”

After midnight,
I hid in the bushes
Around the house.

By two
I was in the darkness
Of the orange grove
Across the street.

It had to be safe among
The friendly green giants
With sweet, juicy
Naval oranges
Hanging heavy from limbs.

In my haste to find safety
Away from spooky noises
I forgot to take my jacket .
There was frost on the trees.
Vapor trails snitched on me.

At three I was
Behind locked doors.
With the twelve inch
Butcher knife
My dad used to carve roasts
And a thick stick,
With my heart
A drum,
I looked into
Every closet;
Under every bed.

When I heard
Car doors and familiar voices,
I put the knife back
In its block;
Hid the stick
In my closet
And faked sleep.

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