That day in may, mischievously you
hid at the bottom of the garden to escape
the tedious chore of setting the family
dinner table.
Or on those long hot hours that D.C summers
would bring, your mother would send you all,
your brother, sisters and you out to play
never once thinking about the 'murderers'
And once as the sun was setting over DC
your brothers for spite tied you to a tree,
you lashed out and yelled and shouted,
they never taunted you again
Or winter at school how goose bumps
would appear on your bare thighs
as 'murder ball' was the game of choice
