JHooligan came today, at his request, for his annual spring break sleepover at his grandma’s. JHooligan will be fifteen next month, so it’s quite touching that he clings to this tradition. (SHooligan, on the other hand, didn’t come last year, either. She’s into being a hermit these days. She told her mother, “Hermitry is AWESOME!”)
So J joined his old grandma and aunt for dinner at Applebee’s and a ride to get creamy whip. He spent a lot of time alone on the computer working on his booklet of Minecraft characters, and he’s upstairs now relishing his favorite sleepover activity: enjoying Mom’s living room in complete solitude (well, except for Addie, who’s been glowering all evening because JHooligan hogs her spot on the futon).
With all the distractions, I missed posting my PAD/April 2 poem on the proper day by more than an hour.
The Day 2 prompt at Poetic Asides was “write a secret poem”:
by Nancy Susanna Breen
She played her secrets close to her chest
like trading cards she’d sneaked into a poker hand.
Nothing would entice her to reveal them,
even if it meant folding and losing the pot.
She enjoyed power in that exclusive inner knowledge,
the basis of a smug self-confidence
that carried her through break-ups, deaths, betrayals.
Friends, sexual co-adventurers could abandon her–
their secrets remained behind in her custody. She knew
revenge’s sweetness was as false as saccharine.
The delight was in hoarding it all, visiting
her trove to examine and appreciate
random pieces, some of it rusty, some mildewed,
many so old no one but her remembered
such secrets had ever existed. Yet, they still did.