Tuesday, August 07, 2007


She sat cross-legged,
pensive parental hush,
observing his every unrehearsed movement
happy fingers,
dancing clutter
amidst the menagerie of wish fulfillments.
Her rigid excitement,
bursting forth from well intension arteries,
storefront stocked ready in baited daydreams.
Encouraging the chemistry set,
with pointed debate, shuffling building blocks,
determined with all faith,
to rid him of his left-handed crayon doodling –
the sure and telling signs of a penniless future.

Perhaps he would reach
- even surpass,
these lofty expectations.
Presidential appointment, no less,
though statesman would satisfy anew,
her hawk-like search
seeing a swift proud hand,
dispensing justice from his ice cream gavel.
Misperceiving the curious delicacies,
light surgical touch from sticky fingers
grazing over cat hair husk.

He would scale these heights,
as foreign, disinterested and force-fed
as the waiting spoon -
drippy pabulum
leaking from his full lips.
Perhaps then –
in a few nauseating annum
calculatingly measured
in growth spurts,
then grade point,
and finally,
- certificates and honors
hard earned…

perhaps then –
when all that he might have desired
had been beaten from his consciousness,
liberated – then, might she be also…
from her own disservice youth
and blindly follow…
to no fulfilling end
when all either had wanted then
was to play on the drums.
@Nick Zegarac 2007 (all rights reserved).