Pris Campbell

Wild Goose Poetry Review, No 33, Fall 2017


DIRTY DEEDS

My fear of drowning began
when grandfather stepped
into the tub with me

did his dirty deeds
with my seven year old body

tossing me backwards
like some worn out Barbi
when finished

grasping for the tub’s edge,
mouth and nose filling
as he stood

Thankfully, I’ll be gone
when the ice caps melt

and avoid this repeat
of grandfather’s shadow looming

 


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