Stuck like glue to the patch of shaved wood in the corner of the living room,
TV blasting out his favorite Superhero’s escape, he plotted their death.
His nose two inches away, stripped and stretched naked, tied to a frame,
as he often was, he fantasized their demise.
When his lower limbs numbed his upper ones fell, they cracked him
on the back with the buckle for lack of obedience.
Wetting his pants, he was only standing still stuck in the corner
for five hours and seventeen minutes When it happened.
They united against him, asking the younger to set the kettle,
to purify the sin of the elder.
And so we met him, after the cleansing left a burned
upper body, scarred numb soul.
Arms forever unfeeling and an allegiance to tell
no one how the kettle got lit,
to be poured over the sacrifice of the elder son, who disobeyed
when he dropped his arms
and pissed his pants while serving his penance in the corner.
Julia W. Burns, MD