My Terrorist

Behind my eyes,
Where thrum registers fear
Resides an older brother,
Wooden Indian sentinel,
The conscience bearer
And my torturer.

I hold him responsible,
Because he is now,
And could have been then,
But chose allegiance
With East Coast therapist
Boon, My mother.

Treaties so dear
Cost years of sullen jaws
Tightened into doctor visits
And tickets to
Woody Allen movies.

Business goes well
For him, who thinks already
About early retirement and coaching
Little boys like us,
Needing more help than
What was on tap.