Unbeknownst

Boy at Dusk

41 Boy at Dusk What are you doing, chasing the street like it’s some lackadaisical gorgeous bubble of soap, don’t you know the torqued cars have tired Friday men and women in them? Your blue is the gray of the sky, the gray of the street. You’re one more newsprint face mistaking risk for happiness—I’ve seen you coasting prone, chest to skateboard, wings outstretched low over the fast ground that falls to the corner, also at dusk and lightened then too by casting off your outgrown jacket just as you have your caution. I’m glad you aren’t my boy. Not yet. But this is the street we live on too and do you occupy his someday space? And will his cold face come then in the yellow warm? Go home. ...