Love

she’ll

stride into the school dinner hall, sleeves rolled up,

checking why I haven’t come out, why I have

been put to the slow table by the dinner ladies

“Eat up, children are starving in Africa!”

they say, while she leads me outside to play

Chinese ropes, Chinese burns

she scrubs my wounds with salt to keep me from gangrene

keep me hardened

treacly malt wraps around my spoon

for me to finish with castor oil

for, I am an only child

nobody else survived