They said don’t be so truthful they said
be yourself they said shut up and let me
go they said the future is dim. I can’t
see a thing on the horizon: north, south
east and west. Age, inevitably. This isn’t
about me. They said eat your whole plate
people are starving they said take out
the garbage they said make your bed
they said something about flipping a coin
onto the regulation wool blanket. Boy
Scouts pitch tents before the snow
comes down. Boys like chocolate, too.
There’s an old tree that juts from the
peak of the bluff. One might climb it
to escape the bullies who pack gravel
into their snowballs, stretch comfortably
upon its limbs, take in all there is to see,
which is more than a kid might’ve ever
seen, a colossal vista dusted not-so-
slightly in powdered sugar, sure, one
might, as the land brightens and the
snow switches to sleet that clings like an
adolescent to the tree that juts from the
peak of some obscure childhood monolith.
