The words installed within me

a deep unease :

DEAN LICKED MY BALLS

four foot high in white

beneath the underpass

 

I was eight years old

and driving from

the backseat of the car

going to pick up my Dad

from work.

 

A brush and emulsion job

white lines running down the wall

and blurring quick

as the words loomed past:

DEAN LICKED MY BALLS

 

I don’t think it was the imagined act

as such

as much as the setting

that unsettled me

the underpass was a violent mess

of mattresses and broken wood

and broken glass

and broken blood

and broken dark spots

where things would possibly happen

if they possibly could.

 

Of course, Dean

could have had his balls licked

In the comfort of his own home

But there was another worry upon me

Whoever wrote this :

was it a boast?

or an exorcism in public

of a very private ghost?

 

I felt almost afraid to guess,

or ask

When you’re eight years old

you start to know

that grown ups

sometimes

wear a mask.