Poetry

A Portrait Of A Boy

A young boy lies on a blanket
Black powder, aluminum and iron
Fire off above his head
Loud and bright, he says oooo, woww
He’s got a black shirt on,
Black pants
He’s overweight,
or whatever,
blonde
I should be interested in something else,
anything else,
but I’m not, I want to watch this boy
He’s my little brother, my child, my father, God

The boy’s mother photographs the firework show
Chews her gum with her mouth open
She’s got a couple of girls runnin’ around too
She likes her capri pants, her icebox
She doesn’t look at me as I stare at her son,
at her, people never notice when you’re writing a poem
about ‘em
Less they’re a poet themselves and still
they like to think you’re not really doin’ it

I continue to observe the child in his environment,
watching for any majors changes
He sucks and slurps on a Tootsie pop
He’s an innocent thing who flinches
whenever the fireworks boom too loud
Mom did you see that box catch on fire?!
Yes,
she clicks.
Slurp.

I want to watch him grow but he isn’t mine
and I think I’m OK anyway watching other
people’s children.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s