boy in blue shorts

THE BOY IN BLUE SHORTS

The screaming woman on the other side

of our tall black gate

would have thrown a rock at me.

My maid, Rosita, sheltered me from the insults--

            something about my being

            retarded and full of worms.

The woman nudged her son forward.

Blue shorts, clean T

-shirt, rubber slippers.

She said her little boy was the one

who should have been adopted, he was healthy.

He was about my age,

four or five. We were both silent.

I want to see the Mr. and the Mrs.,

they are making a big mistake.

Rosita bolted the gate, took me by the hand--

they are bad people, don't listen to them. 

I felt the crisp whiteness of her skirt all the way across

the garden, back to our house.