Arrows and stones: a child’s song
Protects the fragile boy
From all who want to paint him
As if he were as blank as Locke
As if he just arrived on the cul-de-sac
That morning for the first time:
He had not.
He was there the day before.
He had been there days before that.
And so on… like a hall of mirrors
reflecting him back and forth, forever
He’d been there.
Now, though, now,
They see him cry
We can paint all the shades of our pain!”
As if the color under his skin wasn’t on the spectrum.