Stolen Youth
Posted: July 30th, 2008, 12:49 pm
a young boy sits up in bed
inexplicably, eyes drawn
to screened window, filtering
two dark shapes
oddly entwined as they shuffle
in the steamy shadows
of summer vacation from school...
bad men on the lam foreign
to unspoiled eyes, one man
is hurt he thinks, the other
is a human crutch, four legs
struggle like a wounded animal
with two heads, serpentine
along the asphalt driveway.
The boy wants to call for help
but words fall lifeless
on his crippled tongue, eyes slam
shut, he slips back and buries
his troubles in the safety
of his Superman sheets, the vroom
of the family Ford brings a measure
of relief, must be Dad's daily trek
to the Steel Mill, a tonic in the night,
as terror is exhaled and the child
breaths anew, but without warning
the Fairlane shrieks as pungent rubber
fills the space where sleep normally goes.
Mom won't like the divots from the
badminton court soiling the clapboard
siding, Dad's in trouble for leaving so
fast, driving straight across the lawn,
glad it's not me, Dad must have
really been late for work this time.
The terror returns when the boy hears
his father's voice from the next room,
as the two-toned sedan disappears
into the thick Baltimore air.
inexplicably, eyes drawn
to screened window, filtering
two dark shapes
oddly entwined as they shuffle
in the steamy shadows
of summer vacation from school...
bad men on the lam foreign
to unspoiled eyes, one man
is hurt he thinks, the other
is a human crutch, four legs
struggle like a wounded animal
with two heads, serpentine
along the asphalt driveway.
The boy wants to call for help
but words fall lifeless
on his crippled tongue, eyes slam
shut, he slips back and buries
his troubles in the safety
of his Superman sheets, the vroom
of the family Ford brings a measure
of relief, must be Dad's daily trek
to the Steel Mill, a tonic in the night,
as terror is exhaled and the child
breaths anew, but without warning
the Fairlane shrieks as pungent rubber
fills the space where sleep normally goes.
Mom won't like the divots from the
badminton court soiling the clapboard
siding, Dad's in trouble for leaving so
fast, driving straight across the lawn,
glad it's not me, Dad must have
really been late for work this time.
The terror returns when the boy hears
his father's voice from the next room,
as the two-toned sedan disappears
into the thick Baltimore air.
)