The Responsbile Party

On the top stair
clenching the twisted
wrought-iron rail
a small girl spies
through the darkness

Yellow light emerges
from the bathroom
at the end of the hall
casting ghoulish shadows
on the wall

'Brush your teeth!
Pick up the toothbrush
and brush your teeth!'

He can't do it, Dad.
You have to help him.

'Brush your teeth.
Son.
DO IT!'

The son does nothing
the empty eyes
register a hint of fear
his frail body
leans against the pink sink
a stream of drool
escapes the open lips

'BRUSH YOUR TEETH!'
'LISTEN TO ME!'

Do it.
O, God
Please
help him
do it.

The son does nothing
it's too late
past the point of
no return
the arm cocks back

One
maybe only one
Two
ThreeFour
FiveSixSeven
better not to count

The girl watches
clenching the rail
pressing her small body
into the corner of the stair
worn out and unfriendly
carpet rubs her bare legs

Stop!
Please, stop.
He can't do it.
This isn't right.
I have to stop it!

The girl does nothing
silent tears
slide down her cheeks
she creeps
down the stairs
into the safety
of the dark