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.