Alphabet Soup Minuscule

J.C. Scheff

The Boy


tub

You are no longer that little boy, who put bugs in my hair.

That boy who spent his recesses throwing around footballs,

With the pretext you were a rough, hard-hitter.

Somehow we went from 4th grade journalists,

Replacing our pencils with fingers.

Blindly, we trace one another’s lips,

And intentions.

As if we were looking for that lost present.

The pastel lights of last week’s Christmas tree.

Show the surprise in your gray eyes,

That sparkles prettier than those on the tree.

You are no longer that little boy who spits, and throws his food at lunch,

That boy who would secretly ride by my house,

In search of that make-believe dog.

Somehow, we went from exchanging awkward glances,

To, candlelit baths, and laughter.

You are the only boy.

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9 thoughts on “The Boy

  1. a nice romantic piece all the way through:))

  2. I think in that kernel of our hearts, a secret little piece of that young love always burns. A good poem that made me smile and reflect on long ago deeds.

  3. So perfect, reminiscing. Great, powerful, awesome.

  4. One thing is certain: Your son is a carbon copy of his grandpa. 🙂

    I have seen similar photos of my parents. In their life before kids, they actually took the time to have photos taken together, professional or no. Now, not so much. Those few photographs of them are precious.

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