No one liked eleven,
an ignored child. But you,twelve, they doted on.
You wore the 2-more-than-10
like a crown. You came
to denote half a day, a
year, a box of moons, a
site for mid-day meals,
a gang of star-gods.
The military treated
you strangely--turning you into
"straight up"--or zero,
when time begins again.
You became midnight's lover,
noon's boss, the clock
in a church or a brothel.
You were born even grander
than 10 and live between it
and the squad of teens,
alone except for your odd
sibling, eleven, who loves
you no matter what
and see you as the end
of childhood.
hans ostrom 2023
