Aged Four Poem by James McLain

Mum got away, I don't know where.
Perhaps to have a drink she always does.
The bench within the park is cold
and always hard.
I called her name out loud, then I panicked!
Verily once said of me, to he I said.
You are not my mum in fear I said.
Here come with me and take my hand,
afraid to make him mad and so I did.
He used me bad the pain, the stinging hurt.
My pants he tore from me, my stinging eye's.
It mattered not to him and so I cried.
His two hands grew tight around my neck
the lights went out.
Like worthless trash he threw me out into
the bushes and I was found.
I don't know how this works, but I'm not
an angel anymore.