I haven’t told you
what i think,
if that man
must be silenced,
as i was silent
all the years
he taught me
how to sing.
The crotchets
on the stave
spread panic
in my brain,
yet to sing them
was to gain
a place
away from him.
He would clasp me
by the wrist, pull
my zipper
down an inch,
run a finger
down my prick,
say how grown up
i seemed.
He was quick to warn
since i was growing tall
how my instrument
would crack
like a porcelain
knick knack,
but saying that
how nicely i performed.