Poison Cookies

The cookies are almost ready. I can tell because grandma has gotten out of her rocker and toddled into the kitchen, only now it is not grandma who is in the kitchen. It is a clown with a curled wig, too much make-up, and a garish grin. Why is the clown wearing the dress? The clown is disappointed in me. I have wet myself again. I must go clean up and then I can have cookies because I am a good boy.

When I come back, the clown is gone, and grandma is back. Please don't let the clown come back, grandma, please. I'm too afraid to beg, though. It's a chocolate chip cookie. My favorite.

Grandma says I'm only allowed to have one and then I am to go outside and play.

The sun is hot and the grass is long. I take off my shoes and run around ending at the tire swing. My shirt is marked with black streaks, and my feet are dirty. I hear my name.

It sounds like my grandma, but there is an angry clown at the door. I am a dirty boy. I must undress at once. I feel like crying, but I cannot cry or the clown will hurt me more. The clown smokes a cigarette while it hoses me off and makes me clean. I tremble.

The clown goes into the house and my grandma comes back in with a towel. She swaddles me and kisses me on the forehead.