"Enuresis," by Cid Corman

Terror--Ed--is not
Sitting in one's piss.
I know--I've sat there--

I've slept there and did
Most of my childhood.
That was warmth--in fact--

And comfort--in spite
Of the unconsealed
Unconsealable

Smell. Terror? That was
And always will be
Mother cursing Dad

And there there I am
Alone in that night
Hearing that door slam.