All undone,
as he does,

Ingrid knows,
every time

picks on her,
punishes,

nothing new,
but she knows

afterwards
even when

the wounds go
and pain stops,

it will come
like seasons

once again.
Her mother

is too weak
to stop him,

too frightened
to say boo

or say no,
and as she

walks over
the bombsites

with her friend
Benedict,

listening
to his talk

of brave knight
fighting bad

with sharp sword
or strong bow,

or share his
bag of sweets

or soft drinks,
in London’s

50’s streets,
being his

high lady
in distress,

or be there
by her side,

9 years old
as she is

but seeming
much older,

his friendship
and sharing

and boyhood
Robin Hood

sort of love
and sharing,

makes the days
of darkness

of wounding
punishments

easier
and her mind

much bolder.