Age
has
grayed
their hair and
slowed
their steps but
their
bond of friendship
remains
strong. Years
of
travel along the road
of
life, from college boys,
to
young professional men,
to
family men, and now here
walking
together as the sun
begins
to cast a smaller
shadow,
still sharing thoughts,
ideas,
memories. And I
wonder,
do they think
about
the
day when it’ll all
end,
when the good Lord
decides
to call one of them
home? Will it be a sad day?
Do
they already know
time
is ticking down?
I
did it all in fear.
Fear
of not living up
to
expectations set by
family
and elders, to
not
be that good little boy
that
everyone wanted, to
not
grow up to be that
good
man that everyone
hoped
for. I did it all
because
I was afraid
to
get off the road.
But
now, even with
where
I stand, there
is
a feeling that
gnaws
at my soul
telling
me I should’ve
done
more, that I
gave
away too much
time
trying to be nice,
hoping
each day that
no
one would be mad at me.
Fear
has left me alone
in
my bed, feeling
tormented
and emasculated,
forever
less than the
man
I dream about while
I
sleep, the superhero that
donned
his cape, flew
through
the air, saved the
world,
and swept the pretty
ladies
off their feet.
But
there are no capes
in
my closet, nor do I
fly
or even garner a
notice
from any female.
Nothing
about me is
considered
extraordinary
and
many days I do not
feel
loved or liked or
even
here. Maybe that’s
becomes
my biggest fear,
Fear
of becoming a faceless
being,
just one of the
multitudes
that go to and
fro
like ants marching to
their
colonies. But no one
around
can write my song,
so
I keep trying to find
the
right words before
facing
my ultimate fear:
running
out of time.
She’s always been
one mean bitch.
She was the one
who cackled amongst
the other mother hens
about my daughter,
said she dressed too
much like Gaga, said
she needed to be taught
how to look like a lady.
She said it, her daughters
repeated it, and now
I have to dry my
child’s tears, tell her
she is still special, to
ignore what that lady
had to say. Ignore her
just the way I have
all these years. I
remember her from my
high school days, trying
her hardest to be like
Madonna, wearing her
MTV outfits to school,
teasing the teen boys, even
saying she could be their
Boy Toy. But I guess she
forgot the past, forgot that
those young boys became
grown men, forget how
she stopped being a
Lucky Star, switched to
plain clothes, let her hem
line
down, and eventually
learned how to cross her
legs.
My daughter will learn
those lessons, too. But
not
now. It’s time for dinner;
pizza and soda for the
family tonight. Her Dad
doesn’t need to know about
our talk. Tonight we’ll enjoy
time at the kitchen table,
then I’ll show her how I
used to dress like Boy
George.
Early bird becomes
night owl, unable to
sleep. Her words
tonight make me feel
like a child, a
child who wants playtime
but instead is directed to
the corner to put his head
down on his desk.
The last two words of
her letter said this,
You behave
two simple words with a
simple meaning, but
tonight
they feel like the swat of
a ruler across my hands;
I didn’t do anything
wrong. I paid attention,
did my homework, and
yet I still got scolded
anyway. Now I wonder
if I weren’t so nice,
maybe then I could
get to have recess.
