She'll only be disappointed," I told my brother,

no matter how nice the present is,"

but he still wrapped it and put it in a box

and wrapped that and put it in a box and -

Her eyes shone. "What can it be? Such a big box!"

His eyes shone too as the parcel got smaller and smaller

and excited eyes became down-turned mouth and

"It's lovely, thank you, but I thought -”

I remember it, the pretty cotton coveralls, blue

with flowers, pearl buttons on the straps.

She wore them into the kitchen one night

when she should have been in bed and Dad was holding

the butcher's knife up to his throat again

and turned on her saying, "I'll chop you up,

you little slit-eyed bastard!

"I'm a good girl! I didn't do anything!"

I was between her and Dad; I got her back to her room.

"Of course you're a good girl. Into bed now.

It will be better, in the morning."

I still remember it,

forty years later.

I'm writing poetry now

and it's still not morning.