Ten

at 10 i walked into the house and caught my dad in bed with my aunt.

stifling heat usually does not stop a child's play.
even when the dog days howl their warnings.
the retreat of a musty, dilapidated clubhouse,
chairs without seats; but who cares -- joy needs no support.
then thirst or, perhaps the promise of a refreshing popcicle, lures the child home.
meandering through the back; relinquishing a fragment of innocence out the front.
oh to retrace one's steps; do the untested have hindsight?
stifling heat may not stop child's play
but, with mistrust set into motion,
suffocating anxiety will.