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.
The shoes, and their laces, will be there tomorrow. Nice writing, Lauren.
ReplyDeleteTomorrow doesn't matter to a child. He only remembers today.
DeleteThe 11 year old in my life is still covered in ketchup.
ReplyDeletexx
LuLu
Breakfast After 10
I don't remember who taught me how to tie my shoes.
ReplyDelete/Avy
http://mymotherfuckedmickjagger.blogspot.com
♥