Pedophilia

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

Delivery of printed music sheets

Is more important than performance, though

It’s not clear why.  The sweating in the seats

Of chasing cars is mindless, too.  Shout, “NO!”

But still the nightmare will go screeching on

Until the man beside you in your bed

Grabs shoulders, shaking you.  But then a prawn

Will bite you on your neck.  A screaming head

Will lunge up from your pillow.  As you wake,

You’ll be confused and so the boundary in

Between the nightmare and your world can’t stake

You off completely from the realm of nightmare sin.

  At least you hope that you can leave behind

    Your music teacher father and his grind.

© Phillip Whidden