Coming: An excerpt from Porridge: A Memoir

Trinkets dance as the days roll along.

The leaves fall to the ground,

Damp and deteriorated

Waiting for the winter.

The girls ask what vixen I will become

But all I think of is the vixen I’ve been as the third year approaches.

It’s like Christmas and less like Halloween.

New gifts opened and the bad ones too.

How surreal it feels when it finally comes,

November second is not Halloween

It’s the day the monsters rose up,

From under the bed

And took you away.

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