They called me Maggot-the-unborn-fly
and Lanny Millman shot me with a BB gun—
nothing appeased them, not Snickers bars, nothing.
They chased me around the schoolyard: you killed Jesus!
Lanny Millman shot me with a BB gun—
Billy C rubbed my tit hard and ran away,
chased me around the schoolyard: you killed Jesus
and climbed a tree, pelted me with crabapples.
Billy C rubbed my tit hard and ran away.
They wrecked the playhouse Uncle Robert built me,
climbed a tree, pelted me with crabapples.
I screamed, but my mother didn’t hear.
They wrecked the playhouse Uncle Robert built me.
Twirling in our kitchen, Mother catered to Father.
I screamed, but my mother didn’t hear—
my father due home in hat and herringbone, nice pot roast for him.
Twirling in our kitchen, Mother catered to Father—
martini just right, gin and vermouth, the tiniest drop,
my father due home in hat and herringbone, nice pot roast for him,
my Mother in high heels, dab of perfume on her neck.
Martini just right, gin and vermouth, the tiniest drop.
Nothing appeased the boys, not Snickers bars, nothing.
(Mother waiting in high heels, dab of perfume on her neck.)
The boys called me Maggot-the-unborn-fly.
How great to come upon your poem this morning. Powerful!