Group Home Before Miss Edna's House

The monsters that come at night don't breathe fire, have two heads or long claws. The monsters that come at night don't come bloody and half-dead and calling your name. They come looking like regular boys going through your drawers and pockets saying You better not tell Counselor else I'll beat you down. The monsters that come at night snatch the covers off your bed, take your pillow and in the morning steal your bacon when the cook's back is turned call themselves The Throwaway Boys, say You one of us now. When the relatives stop coming When you don't know where your sister is anymore When every sign around you says Group Home Rules: Don't do this and don't do that until it sinks in one rainy Saturday afternoon while you're sitting at the Group Home window reading a beat-up Group Home book, wearing a Group Home hand-me-down shirt hearing all the Group Home loudness, that you are a Throwaway Boy. And the news just sits in your stomach hard and heavy as Group Home food.