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News

Your terror starts

promptly at 10 p.m.

with the blaring theme

of the local news


The room is dark,

you’ve read your books

and yet there is something

off


The grownups downstairs

your caregivers, your protectors

now impotent, powerless to sense

childish terrors long forgotten


The news marches on:

the world, the city, the weather

(dreary days ahead)

and your chest tightens


Because it’s time to talk

about tonight’s game, sports fans

almost time for the grownups

to go to bed


They’ll come upstairs, thinking

you’re asleep, and your shame

will stay your pathetic bleating:

aren’t you a little old for this?


Before long, they’re dreaming

grown-up dreams and

the house is a tomb for the day

now laid to rest


and in that evil stillness

you know I’m there

it’s just us now

at last



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