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April 21, 2005

Listen

Listen: there was a boy who
attended my school;
he was younger than me
and wore thick, black glasses.
he never cried
but always looked sad
because
he was a prophet of beetles and bees.

On a wet Tuesday
he was crumpled
by a car going
too fast.
his parents carried
his little black coffin
on their backs.

On Wednesday
we were in the playground
looking at girls
and fruit.
''What was his name?'' Mikey asked.
''Dunno. Dead but,'' said Tommy.
''Third-grade?'' Mikey asked.
''Think so,'' Chris said, picking his
nose.

Posted by Martin McKenzie-Murray at April 21, 2005 11:22 AM