To “Bud”

A woman recently told

me that “Men

can’t be raped.”


But you and I know

different.


A swinging light in

your basement, the pachinko

balls ring, and we know what fits

into the places where it shouldn’t. Tearing

apart the small things of little boys.


Sometimes that wound still

bleeds, and every time I take a shit, I am trying to push you

out of me


I do not remember what I told the judge, I just pull

open the brass handled courtroom door

and I am back on the hallway carpet again

blinking, with the middle gone

like so many middles with you.

Broken,

split

am I and this is what we parts have to say:


Your prison was nowhere near as long as mine


If you are done fucking children, Do

Not Tell.

Because I can

forgive but

I cannot

forget the four years I

cannot remember.


If you are not, Do

Not Tell.

Because what you

and my family

created

in me

will make me to sleep and come for you, to growl low in your ear and find what cannot fit in you but will.


You will do this for me

for I do not think

I can take

another break-

ing. And your silence

will last

longer than

mine.

© Michael Barry 2013