Wednesday, August 2, 2017

This poem was recently revised, and due to formatting problems was re-posted out of chronological order.



Part Boy, Part Man
Aug 17 2008


Part boy, part man.
Slipping back
into neediness,
then acts of unexpected grace.
Feeling ashamed
you ever lost faith in him.

He hardly shaves,
the patchy beard
a badge of manhood.
And size 12 shoes
lie scattered by the door
you can’t believe are his.
He towers over
on those rare occasions
he consents to be seen with you.
And his body goes stiff, pulls away,
resisting hugs
fending off your kiss.

The little boy
you loved
to smell and touch
ands make a fuss
has vanished.
Replaced
by this unformed man;
a giant, with an adolescent brain,
as confusing to him
as it is
to the rest of us.

He’ll be fine
you repeat, over and over.
He’ll survive
you reassure yourself.

Bad music
from his basement room
reverberates through the floor.
You want to yell
Turn it down, you’ll make us all go deaf
in your own mother’s voice
but don’t.

Grieving for the boy.
And patient
with this pale underground stranger
- who moved-in one day
when you must have been out.

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