Memory of Being Grounded
Older, he will remember Trying to sleep when it was still Light out. Glow of day Amplified by curtains Billowing over the bed On which he lay In his clothes. The only way To fight it was to pretend He would rather sleep Than play, but the dark Under the covers was false, Like the dark those Who work nights have To sleep in. Grounded on the second floor For throwing his brother Down in the lane. He figured he’d stop Crying by the time They reached the yard, But he’d kept it up. Downstairs they were Eating the dinner He’d been sent up without, His empty plate framed By knife and fork. She had really done it, Done what she had threatened To do, and now he lay In what remained of the day, While his brother, angelic, Minced chicken meat Between his front teeth. Surely they would remember He was up there. Any Moment now she would Call up the stairs To invite him to come down And eat alone Like on those fall evenings After football practice, His shoulders huge With pads. Any moment Now and he would hear His name.