enuresis by Cid Corman

Terror is not – Ed –

sitting in one’s piss.

I know – I’ve sat there –

I’ve slept there and did

most of my childhood.

That was warmth – in fact –

and comfort – in spite

of the unconcealed

unconcealable

smell. Terror? That was

and always will be

mother cursing Dad

and there there I am

alone in that night

hearing that door slam.

Rating:

enuresis