Bed Wetting

It was like some overdeveloped sense
that allowed her to pick up my sniveling
no matter how quiet I tried to be.

I wasn’t crying because
I had wet the bed again,
I was crying because
I knew she would hear me
and know.

She’d enter in a rage
pull me from my bed
toss me against the toilet
and hiss
Pee right now you little son of a bitch!

But I couldn’t.
I already had.
So there was a standoff,
until I fell asleep standing up.

She’d slap my face awake,
toss me on my bed
and mumble You little bastard.

For the longest time
I thought it was my fault.