Spring 1971

Edging toward the door, he

glances once over his shoulder but doesn’t

stop. It doesn’t seem quite right, just

leaving like that without

saying anything to anyone,

but then nothing he might have said

would have seemed right to him.

The sunlight on the leaves

glitters in myriad points of

colored light. The people

are gauze silhouettes

moving through rows of pastel worlds.

It’s like the covers of the books

he’d like to read.

Did he really shake his fist

at an invisible chariot in the sky?

He did. He did.

Why would he do that?

It was humid that day, and his heart

was beating fast.

What’s the matter with him anyway?

How did he ever wind up like that?

He sits on the green lawn

looking at a picture of Durer’s

“Knight, Death and the Devil.”

He’s just a kid

in an opaque world.

Soon the first girl of his life

will pick him out for

no reason he’ll ever know.

He’s a gentle boy. His leaving her

will just kind of happen,

like forgetting your keys.

He goes to a head shop

and looks at album covers.

He’s afraid of everything

and there’s nothing he won’t try.

He needs something but

doesn’t know what,

and whenever he thinks he does,

he’s wrong.

There he goes, he’s

getting in a car and going somewhere.

He’ll be back before too long.

What will this guy ever do for a living, anyway?

Sometimes you just have to shake your head.

So long, kid. You take care.

“Yeah, take care!”