The Child
J. LAUGHLIN
THE CHILD
in his little bed in
the dark room clutches
the fluted columns at
the head of the bed his
fists are rigid and he
can't sleep he is think-
ing about how some day
he will not be alive
he will not be a per-
son he will not be him-
self anymore he won't
be it is terror to him.
Structure
14 lines · 8 stanzas