Batman

And in any other’s eyes she would disguise violent whispers

with captured promises… wait til I get you home.

Had I not been perfect? Had I said something wrong?

Yeah, right. Just my speed. And the hourglass bends

and time fades another day…

We can now add Kidney disease and shots in my eye

from the progressing diabetes from the PTSD.

And am I saying goodbye. Not sure.

Now was this a particular time with my mother or was

there a particular time. I can’t remember.

But in our house when I was 6 the door jam

to the front door held butter knifes from the

kitchen in the jam, out of our reach, to ensure the door staid shut.

The windows in the Northwest, downstairs, were

Picture Windows. And the sliding glass door held a nail in its path

at the top. I was hoping, perhaps, I could talk at the hospital to

a social worker if it happened. Was there a reason to fear that. Yes.

I had been told, by my mother, that I had been in an accident when I was six.

Six years ago after they passed I started talking about my past and one of the

things I was told was… I’m a professional. We hear stories of abuse. And what

you are saying doesn’t match the telling of an accident. A six year old child

simply doesn’t do those things in that way.

It was simple. They simply told me that a six year old would not have done

what I was told had happened.

And there are reasons. And I have told.

Now, Ski’s son had just died in a drowning accident in a pool and 6-year-old

Bobby down in Tucson had just played the drums for me to his new 45 of the

Beatles, Help! Was that the reason? No.

Was it Disney? Was it?

Perhaps, I had thought if they did it, it would make me a better soldier?

That I’d always instinctively remember where the doors were.

My mom stopped on the way to the ER at her doctor’s office

for a tranquilizer for herself.They at first had gone the wrong

way to Sacred Heart.

In the ER they did not have time to put me under, they couldn’t

and the head injury made them afraid that I would slip into a coma. I laid there

still. They brought me to a social worker. And I believe she brought me to the

FBI, to the man out of Seattle who provided my father’s security clearance.