The Lie
As was my custom, I'd risen a full hour
before the house had woken to make sure
that everything was in order with the Lie,
his drip changed and his shackles all secure.
I was by then so practiced in the chore
I'd counted maybe thirteen years or more
since last I'd felt the urge to meet his eye,
such I liked to think, was our rapport.
I was at full stretch to test some ligature
when I must have caught a ragged thread, and tore,
his gag away; though as he made no cry,
I kept on with my checking as before.
Why do you call me The Lie? he said
I swore: it was a child 's voice.
I looked up from the floor,
The dark had turned his eyes to milk
and sky and his arms and legs where
all one scarlet sore.
He was a boy of maybe three or four.
His straps and chains were all the things he wore
Knowing I could make him to reply
I took the gag before he could say more
and put it back as tight
as it would tie
and locked the door
and locked the door
and locked the door.
