When we were young
we used to burn ants alive.

We would go to the detective store,
back when it existed
to buy listening devices
and itching powder.

Our summers were filled with
agent number sevens
and femme fatales.

We'd hide under the stairs
spy on our aunts and grandmothers
hoping to hear some of the
spelled out words
family secrets
hushed looks, that so frequented our presence.

I wonder if you would still snicker
hold your hand over your mouth,
face blooming red,
if you knew that the
spelled out words
and family secrets
are now about you.