(no subject)

[bucketsoftruth]

harvey, half-devoured

handicapped by inexperience,
limping from a schoolboy mindset
conquered by everyone else in 4th grade
that I’m just now tripping through
on gangly legs sprouting too quickly
for an undeveloped torso to catch up with.

but I feel a tingle in my fingers
and a bulging in my chest;
my head begins to wobble
like a watermelon perched
on a backyard tee-ball stand
as I feel my way thru now high school halls,
the chaos of belt buckles and bugle boy
flashing before my eyes.

these recycled garments are hugging me tighter,
and I can almost wear my father’s shirt
that I’ve tried on so many times
those lonely Saturday mornings
staring at my mother’s mirror
that only reflected a castle-building child
swallowed by the polyester-cotton blend of maturity.

fin.