Ohio Home

When I think of my Ohio home,      
I think of Legos and Lincoln Logs        
littering the floor of my closet,      
mundane toys posing mortal danger.        
      
Down below, Evelyn Bernice moved,        
stalking one of five, lost children.  
She was keen for unnatural noise.        
Say a toy crunched underfoot.  
   
Shattered hope. E.B.'s ears  
cocked, her hips pivoted.        
The huntress preyed,
even as her game prayed.        
      
I flinched at the sound of footsteps,        
as their quickening slowed my pulse.        
Flinch hard and often enough and your        
shaking slows.  Shamed, you  
   
become solid. A boy in trouble again.    
Struck, my small body a tuning fork.    
All overtones of hope bled away.      
Angels E.B. spoke of steered clear.