Look — a childhood
with explosives
attached.

It’s
waiting.  Might be
waiting a while.
Might not go off
at all.  

It’s a little one —
it has blue marks
on it.  It’s hard to see
in there but it’s there
all right,

under the fat,
under the gray.

It’s mighty strong.
It’s got a bad
sting.  It’s 
whiny and terrible
and soft.  

It’s a childhood
laced up with bombs
and it’s waiting to blow.
It’s a fussy thing.
It’s OK, it doesn’t hurt
any more.  Needs

a mommy kiss.
Not likely to get one,
which
doesn’t shift the need.

And when the childhood
goes to work?  It thinks
kiss.  When it drinks?
It thinks kiss.  When it is
kissed?  It thinks
not this — and

it ticks.