on being five

perched on the stoop,

in his ketchup-stained

batman suit

she shooed him out,

when that man pulled up

in his rusted-red toyoto

pick-up truck

counted ants, and

gingerly placed ritz cracker

crumbs in their path

wiped his nose

with the back of his hand,

lodged tiny missiles

at the cigarette-stuffed

dr. pepper can

stared hard

into the blood-stained sun,

and when it started to fade,

he closed his eyes

to the sounds

those sounds

from inside.

she was supposed to teach him how to tie his shoes today.