In leading strings - in a state of pupillage.
The following poem is not autobiographical.
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He made me feel in leading-strings,
and, after all, he was much older.
Being in his house was a state of pupillage.
I sat there waiting while he lit the candles
and was too nervous to join in.
My meals were had in nervous tension,
my waiting for a sign that he was ready...
and then the bedroom with its flock wallpaper
and picture of his ex ex-wife or somebody...
He grew tired of me and my expectancy,
and not being sure in my state of pupillage.
I was shown the door on a Sunday afternoon,
and told my leading strings were out of tune.
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5/27/2015
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