The Skeleton in the Attic

I cannot recall what day it was.
But as we lined up and climbed up,
The winding wooden rungs
Creaked and moaned 
Under panicked little feet.
 Breathing bird slime the wind
Giggled with the wise mango trees
As the teacher opened the evil door. 
Huddled up clenching our fists
To confront evil squarely
Panicked eyes took a glance. 
Hollow eyes stared back
And a sigh escaped newly bold breasts.
Dangling in the dead centre
There it was, in bleak yellow
Pathetic and fragile
Broken ribs and bones tied crudely
Priced possession of our 
Village school.
Oft a creak of wooden rungs 
Send pigeons fluttering from 
My heart.
The waft of bird slimes 
Fills my nose still.
But the kid within laughs holding my hands.
As I struggle with new doors.