Monday, June 4, 2012

poetry: on the man and his boy

On the Man and His Boy

Who taught you not to look at me?
As you walk over cracks
careful not to break your back
while I uneasily take notice
from the front porch.

Who told you I was
to be feared or so respected?
Who planted those seeds,
roots grown deep?

Who, I wonder,
and did they make you to fear
or make you to hate
never go too near.
Who, I wonder.

Threatening, privileged,
intimidating, [invisible],
strange, different.
I probably stare too much.
But who told you I was?

Who taught you not to look at me?
I won't take what you have.
I might need you 
one day;
today, just to look.

Who told you I was?

The boy, through you,
is learning me, too.

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