Jenga
My daughter holds her breath.
Her hand’s all shake,
the block on which the tower depends
creeps bit by bit.
It offers her resistance.
It makes her sweat.
Finally it’s out. Calamity averted.
She sighs relief.
Dad? Can I ask you something?
I crane my head around the stack.
Dad? Last week my brother
stuck his hand inside my pants and licked me.
Down there.
Why would he do THAT?