Poor Boy

Too shy, to ask in the buzzing classroom
Light-weight waits on parking lot rim for the school’s guest of
honor, mountain conqueror, walking briskly past
pulling weather reports, missing the drooping boy
wiry legs chase and yank the thick leather coat
o I didn’t see you there kiddo
did you not get a sticker? Here you go!
his scalpy mitt slaps a gold sticker *explorer* on a recessed chest—
hollowed by a thousand, invisible cuts
after rubbing his sunken cavity, desperation thrusts himself on the Billy goat’s thick leg on gas pedal. unphased by the tiny human’s audacity, he laughs,
mom forgot to pick you up enough
the shriveled face shakes, unacknowledged
tell me how you get everyone to like you
character break, shatter — enter gravity: grave thoughts from backstage right
get off my leg he exhales, avoiding eye contact
noodleboy lumps outside the car of grizzly man
pulling presentation binder off passenger seat
flipping to sealed pages, off script, buried headlines
December 22nd: Ten unexperienced climbers buried under avalanche on expedition, guide is under investigation for unnecessary risk
April 22nd: adored professor suffers, heart arrest, another victim dead from pain killers
The kid shakes his head in disbelief
Did you kill those people?
pushing sunglasses off his face, revealing white circles around swirly blue eyes, he admits:
When you feel so powerless that you must prove to the world you are full of power, you become a monster, I climbed mountains to conquer the pain of watching someone I love get swallowed by her monster
The boy looks confused, heroes aren’t monsters? he says half-hoping for reassurance
Nobody is who they are chalked up to be; they are much, much more.
Take advice from a weathered man: each day, bring your pain and three lucky pennies to a faraway well, look down, and share — the moist darkness longs for your honesty — don’t stop wishing and sharing until the light of the moon is clear enough to guide you through the thicket, and when your faith wavers, draw a line in the dirt, walk over it, and say, I am, you’ll never see clearly without imploring for more and withholding less
drip your secrets out, slowly, and the world will refill your sunken chest with warm, red wax
melting each misgiving with sweet, supple music.
the boy is content, knowing he is loved by the weight of the confession
he walks away with his head held high, wishing the man luck on his perilous dance with golden mountains