One more small boy-slave
crowded onto the
between-place
el entresol, the mezzanine
where he can hear me when I call
but he cannot see me
by looking up
even though I can see him
by looking down.
Here I am
tormented
by one more annoying
rascal
always reciting
his memorized poems
always sneaking peeks
at my books.
Every time I catch him reading
under a table
or behind a door
I lock him down in the cellar
with the charcoal
to darken his thoughts
and his skin.