raccoons in the trash a voice on the breeze
the fits & the screams when you were only thirteen
you had the attic room
you heard the whole thing
under the slanted ceiling your dad painted blue
whatever happened to you
only the worst could be assumed
you're dreaming often of the attic room
in other rooms with other boys
under other ceilings
the springs & the sighs
may drown another night
but you wake up shaking & all that's new
is the owner of the arm around you
how could he know what to do
he never had the attic room