I was thirteen
The first time they
Left me alone.

Watching a black & white
Frankenstein,
Every sound
A serial killer;
Every imagined whisper
At windows
Dracula or Wolf-man.

My fingers and toes the appetizers
My torso the main course.
My brain a dessert
Clogging arteries
Considering
My imagination.

Steve Allen on
The Tonight Show
said, “Smock, smock, smock.”

After midnight,
I hid in the bushes
Around the house.

By two
I was in the darkness
Of the orange grove
Across the street.

I was safe among
The friendly green giants
With sweet, juicy
Naval oranges
Hanging heavy from limbs.

In my haste to find safety
Away from spooky noises
I forgot to take my jacket .
There was frost on the trees.
Vapor trails snitched on me.

At three, I was
Behind locked doors.
With the twelve inch
Butcher knife
My dad used to carve roasts
And a sturdy stick,
With my heart
A drum,
I looked into
Every closet;
Under every bed.

When I heard
Car doors and familiar voices,
I put the knife back
In its block;
Hid the stick
In my closet
And faked sleep.