Sunday, October 4, 2009

A Poem for John

188th Street

I remember well
the kid with polio
who hid in the bushes
and flung rocks
with his good arm, his body skeletal,
covered with pale flesh:
who, in his rage and loneliness,
with his corpse-like visage,
scared me to a hollow gut.
You came with me
the next Sunday morning:
I could tell that you were scared, too,
but took up the older brother’s
duty to be brave
and charged in blindly
then punched him away.
When you saw and turned,
and I saw, too, what was done
in the name of fear,
we were ashamed
to be so dumb
and never spoke of it again.

1 comment:

  1. This one leaves a lump in the throat. Wow! How you paint with words! I have passed on the Kreativ Blogger Award to you. Please stop by my blog and pick it up. You and your blog soooo deserve it!