Screaming.
From the bedroom four doors down.
From inside my own head.
From my dad, as he leaves.

Screaming.
From the bedroom three doors down.
From inside my own head.
From my oldest brother, as he leaves.

Screaming.
From the bedroom two doors down.
From inside my own head.
From my next brother, as he leaves

Screaming?
No, the next door is passed.
Nothing is wrong.
Targets aren’t painted for the adopted.

Knock, knock.
The door.

What a great day to be a McKay.