It rained forever and a day

and was freezing cold

the year you were six

and me forty two.

 

And it worried me sick

the thought of you;

inside forever, in bed,

not knowing what to do.

 

They’ll eat anything

your grandfather said,

but for two whole days

you missed your food.

 

And finally, unlike the sun,

cloudbursts of spots

on your nose, chin

and mouth;

 

the devil in you

trying to get out.