stranger danger?

It was a game, he said

    

Hands behind your back

His brisk command — his brush cut black as coal

his bright blue eyes, bit steely in their stare

Though I was willing, four years to his bold lordly eight

And eager to comply . . .

yet when he pushed his homemade go-cart forward

my hands as well flew forward of themselves! and gripped ahead

grabbed go-cart's sharp-end built-in frontal pole

He shouted NO! trapped both my arms, yanked them well back

They stay like THIS, he said, don't touch the pole, or you can't play

Of course I want ed to obey, to stay, to play the game

with Bobby Wagstaff, tallest, toughest, smartest neighbour boy

Strove extra hard this time to keep my wilful hands behind my back

clasped wrists together, tight-gripped — nails digging deep into my flesh. . .

both wayward limbs immobilized! as Bobby once again bent down

beneath that greyish morning sky, on smooth grey pavement there

and gave his much-loved cart another push

This time I won! kept both bad hands true statue still

Flew forward!

Fell — face first down on metal spike

pierced my left eye

No pain that I recall, just blood, and Bobby fiercely muttering

Keep your mouth shut — I did, I didn't cry

but soon enough he panicked

Called his dad away from their tv

and then . . . my parents came

Then house, then car,

then hospital,

and all the dreamy dreary stitchy rest

Kept my mouth mostly shut throughout

in any case what really should I, could I say?

A dope I was

still am, just am

(and off this month for eyeball surgery again).