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Fifteen
By Leslie Monsour
The boys who fled my father's house
in fear
Of what his wrath would cost them if
he found
Them nibbling slowly at his
daughter's ear,
Would vanish out the back without a
sound,
And glide just like the shadow of a
crow,
To wait beside the elm tree in the
snow.
Something quite deadly rumbled in his
voice.
He sniffed the air as if he knew the
scent
Of teenage boys, and asked,
"What was that noise?"
Then I'd pretend to not know what he
meant,
Stand mutely by, my heart immense
with dread,
As Father set the traps and went to
bed.
