Late at night,
flashlight under the covers,
Ms. Nalletamby pacing the corridor.
Lights out, boys! Don’t make me get the tackie!
Giggles, and stories.
Dreadful stories of the terrs,
coming in the night, burning the farms,
for what? We didn’t know.
Of course nobody believed them,
but they were good stories.
Lots of blood and fire, and breaking windows.
But he didn’t seem excited, so much as
What did I care? Maumau was long over,
and was probably mostly a
Ms. Nalletamby storms in, shouting
What do you have? Give it to me! What is it?
A letter from home.