The Cubby (A.K.A…) – by Bob Love

The kitchen smelt of burned dinner     I saw the look in my guardian aunt’s eyes and the spittle on her lips     out of her mind time rare but epic     I dove for my bolthole between the wall and the icebox head in bum up uncomfortable but reasonably safe from the whistling iron cord    hoping the cord had detached from the iron itself     the cord whispered against my shorts in her frenzy my aunt didn’t seem to know what she was doing striking out against the world not at me    the kitchen door opened and bluey our dog bounded in between my aunt and me    I tumbled out and made it through the still-open door and ran as I had done before not always from the cord but from being told I was a nuisance and useless I was going to grow up like my mother    who was my mother    running to the back of the block to my cubby cobbled together from tin and anything I could find     my cubby my grand mansion my arthurian castle my pirate ship my other place     am I really a nuisance and all those other things perhaps so but I am me and only me good or bad but mostly good I hope.

Photo by Cederic X on Unsplash.

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