Grounded Those summer evenings you were sent up early To bed because you threw a piece of gravel At your brother who kept calling fouls So you tried to draw blood to make his lies true The wide made bed was not yet ready for you Daylight is when beds do their sleeping The room like the room bereaved parents keep Years after the boy died at first you refused To get in it sitting down at your desk A square of cardboard wedged under one leg To keep it from wobbling to work On the story about what would have happened Had Lincoln lived giving up in the summer After his failed assassination Because you couldn’t imagine what He’d be doing without a war to win Or slaves to free those long summer evenings That seem to intend never to end As if getting in bed might hurry it along You lay down listening to the desultory Sound of your brother shooting baskets alone The swish of the make the clank of the miss Until in time you became resigned To being grounded you were almost falling Asleep when like a death penalty pardon Someone called up the stairs that you could Come down now come down and say you’re sorry
I foresee a collection called observations - you are a keen and sensitive observer