Yesterday, the little boy next door
wanted to play.
But the driveway of gravel rocks
and piles of matchbox cars
were only fun for a little while.
So he asked me to come inside and play
and promised he had an amazing prize
just for me, if I would.
So he took me into a dark and dirty bedroom,
crumpled clothes everywhere
and he told me to crawl under the bed.
He followed me, blocking
the rectangle of light,
made by the wooden planks
and shag carpet.
I went home.
I don’t like him anymore.
He’s a liar.
He never gave me any prize.
