February 17, 2011
The smell of bread in the oven,
his mother humming her favorite song
No escape from the cold, grainy surface
which was pressed against his face

Alone he stood against the wall
thinking about his actions
He was always told to do so
and this time he really did

He had known it was bad
He didn’t want to do it; they made him
But they got away,
he being forced to stand there

In the corner
by himself
With a tear in his eye
and an apology on his lips

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