Posts Tagged ‘boys’

The guns they carry are bigger than they are,

these boys in my back yard. They hide behind

the cottonwood trees, and peek out, hoping

to see someone else before they are seen.

The lawn is littered with blue and orange bullets,

and the air is alternately raucous and quiet.

It is impossible for me to not think of the story

I read in the news last night. Though the boys

are ebullient, I can’t see the guns as toys.

Perhaps, said Shu Ting, the mistaken road

will end in a mistake. I notice how I don’t

want to believe him. I want to believe

that even mistaken roads might end

in a bright field. I myself have said and believed

there are no such things as mistakes.

I try to comfort myself with this as a boy

rushes past me, shrieking with glee, shooting rounds

from his gun at his friend. Hit, the friend stands still

and counts to ten before leaping into the fray again.

One. Two. Three. I do not move. Four. Five. Six.

That story, the girl was so young. Seven. Eight. Nine.

The boys shout, More ammo, more ammo. Ten.

Time to move, I tell myself. Perhaps the mistaken

road will end in a mistake. And the woman

walking it, who doesn’t believe in mistakes,

perhaps she and all these boys will just keep on walking.

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In Susan’s Backyard

climbs the
plum tree
ripe plums
the air
my hands
are there
sweet boy
who lives
so me
oh my-ly.

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I know the F word
says the seven year old.
It’s Fuck.

There is no snarl
in the syllable,
only amusement
that a word
is called
by the same
first letter
that begins his name.

Oh yeah,
says the other seven year old,
who’s name begins
with C,
I know the C word.
He waits
for the F boy
to guess,
then says,
It’s Kissing.

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When you are older
I wish you the same tug
you felt tonight—how when
we left the concert
you whimpered to go back

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