My brother, he has a hole in his belly.
No, I'm not kidding!
It's like a big circle
right in the middle of him.

No, I can't see his insides!
No one can see anything inside that hole.
It's just black and empty.

No, I haven't stuck my fingers in there!
Yuck! Why would I want to do that?

Things come out of it sometimes.
All sorts of things.
Like . . . like
carpet tacks and fingernail clippings,
broken watches, spitballs and hairnets.

No, he isn't!
My brother isn't a trash can!
Good stuff comes out too.
Like . . . like
Christmas tree ornaments,
rubber bouncy balls,
paper airplanes and candy bars.
Mom won't let us eat the candy.

No, nothing alive has ever came out
of my brother.
Not yet anyway.
Sometimes, when it is really quiet,
like at night,
I can hear voices coming from it,
like people talking in another room.
You can hear them,
but you can't hear what they're saying.
They're talking and talking and then
it sounds like they're getting closer.

No, you can't see my brother's belly!

No, I'm not lying! I never lie.
Go away!
I don't even know why I told you.
 

About the Author:

Pam McNew has published verse in Snow Monkey, ChiZine, and Strange Horizons.  She occasionally contributes reviews and interviews at Lit Haven, an online publication presenting discussion of fiction, poetry, and writing markets.