POEMS


Little Boy Lost

Guilty from the get go…
my first accusation at four…
not much latter I knew justice was not just blind,
but deaf and dumb

My copping skills became acute…
make believe mischief and refusing passage through the eye of the needle were my escape

My two monikers…wild Indian by those who knew me…and little clown by those that only got a smattering were my living epitaph…

At such an early age my skin didn’t fit.
I tried everything too…
digging to China,
turning my two foot deep pool into the ocean
so I could be Mike Nelson from  Sea Hunt…
and of course my enlistment with the secret service made me special…
with stealth I traveled behind enemy lines…
or so I imagined while trespassing through my Collis Avenue neighbor’s back yards.

I had a bad stomach…
they put me on digestion pills that looked like dark brown M&M’s…
maybe it was my life I couldn’t stomach…
not sufficient enzymes  or lower GI’s…
It was worst during snack;
my classmates got cinnamon graham crackers and amber apple juice….
I was relegated to Animal Crackers
and water from the hose spigot next to the wall by the sand box….
why couldn’t they bring me a glass so I could have a smidgeon of dignity?

One day when Mom came to pick me up…
I did a swan dive off the top of the tall, shiny, steel slide…
a full frontal face plant in the adjacent sand pit…
thank God it was sand and not an empty pool…
my entire face was scabbed for two weeks…
which was far better than a broken nose,
chipped teeth, and a fractured skull…
that would come later…

Trying to escape is a full time job;
my life was pretty busy up to my fifth birthday…
forty nine years later I’ve just started trying to slow down…