Innocence

She walked around, the soft red

her spotlight,

the puddles of water a rippling

red carpet beneath the soles of her feet.

She knocked on a window,

her knuckles painting in colourless smears.

Her other hand clutched her side

desperately

fiercely

protecting what remained of her

bare, brown, hollow stomach.

She only wore a pair of over size

shorts, that might have once been blue,

perhaps with flowers, clean and whole.

They hung just past her knobbly knees.

They would adorn her for another thr

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ee years,

at least.

She lifted her gaze and met another’s.

Raw innocence echoed from both their eyes,

reflecting off the hard glass between.

She was now bathed in harsh green,

the only bath she ever got.

She stood over the cool tar, un-moving,

while lank, matted strands of hair

whipped the skin of her young face.

Punishment.

Their gazes held,

one full of hunger,

the other possibly begging forgiveness,

until they could no more.

And her knuckles began another concert.