Friday, December 14, 2018

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.