BOYS' LIFE

by Brian Satrom

 

 

Myths and cautionary tales from parents,
children’s retelling of them, their morphing,

don’t eat the apple’s core, the seeds poisonous,
will grow into a tree inside you, inside your eye,

the two boys old enough that what they want
to know is how to swear, to order from the back

of Boys’ Life Magazine, X-ray glasses,
already curious about bodies, their smoothness,

smells, crevices, ways they’re entered,
games of pretend to skirt around the edges,

or seeing, for real, what they can do
to their skins colliding with concrete,

falling from skateboards and bikes in alleys,
testing what they can throw and how far,

a letdown compared to the distance in their minds.
One has a new BB gun, a lemon on the neighbor’s tree

within range, when hit giving up a tear.
And the dove on a low-hanging wire,

its abrupt fall to earth. This time
they’ve gone too far; but why?

Nobody saw them. The stupid thing just sat there
waiting to be shot. Already they’re wishing

they could piece together what’s been broken
and put it back the way it was.

 

 

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