MY CHILDHOOD

I too was present when my childhood disappeared. With a fat cluster of prayers the hissing whip cut through the street where I used to drag my stones or search for beetles. My childhood did not mention the blue begonias not the other plants on the patio, it just went away, climbing up that ladder leading to the attic. It repented the furtive glance at the neighbor girl's breasts and it crushed the cigarette against one of the lamp posts. My childhood was no longer there when the patrol car came to pick it up.