The Callow Boy

A pantoum

His parents love him, but

At one, he has a red face and a temper.

The clock ticks restless at two.

He is breathless and tight with tears.

At six, he has a red face and a temper

When he falls and his red ball is lost.

He is breathless and tight with tears.

The green eyes that pierce him send him home.

At twelve, when he falls and his red ball is lost

He speaks in split tone of her hair.

The green eyes that pierce him send him home

In the backseat, alone.

At sixteen, he speaks in split tone of her hair,

Wisps like white smoke under his nose.

In the backseat alone

He tastes the bud that was hidden.

At twenty-one, wisps like white smoke under his nose.

He is laughing at the empty space.

He tastes the bud that was hidden;

He is parched for its tainted nectar.

At twenty-eight, he is laughing at the empty space.

The space his flesh should fill.

He is parched for its tainted nectar.

He rinses with amber rivers over rocks.

At thirty-six the space his flesh should fill,

It wanes as lovers come to watch.

He rinses with amber rivers over rocks.

As they flock to green ashore.

At forty-three, it wanes as lovers come to watch

That flame that’s burned two hundred hives.

As they flock to green ashore

He sits in vain and anger on his beach of rocks

At fifty-eight, that flame that’s burned three hundred hives

It’s jumped from heart to home 

He sits in vain and anger on his beach of rocks

He watches as his walls float down in ash

At sixty-five, it’s jumped from heart to home 

That amber river drowning organs

He watches as his walls float down in ash

And withers with red face and a temper.