The kid at the window ate all my walls.

The kid in the wall ate all my windows.
He was a flirtatious sneer with the stomach of a whore,
bedhead of an ape; the hybrid of a forest man
and his spoiled child.

He has dirty tiger-red imprints on shins to knees,
and I see his lazy hand-me-down attitude in toes and shoes.

Our lazy hands breed lazy legs.
I give him bandages but he pushes my hand—
and smiles— away.

He smashes head into mirrors he couldn't see his face in,
bashes doors in with fist that didn't have doorknobs— he was
a rebellious teenager on the run, he was chasing after stage-fright stars—
mother, let him go. Father, let him be.

He was meant to smear his name in arson in my laugh lines,
and I was meant to wash them in the rain.