Big brother would straddle my waist,
pin my arms with knees
and tickle torture me, too small
to wiggle loose.
Giggling under his eye
then crying with horrible laughter,
kicking, bucking, he only let me go
when he was through.
Like that, only now, straddled
by enormous ennui,
arms pinned by melancholy,
anxiety tickling under skin.
Still too small, too hopeless
to cry or laugh or wriggle free.
I prickle, wait for it
to be done with me.
Summer 2026
