Boys Like Terry Terry’s hair was blond like silver, eight years old, private school in my public school neighborhood, just him and his mother, gray stone house, blinds always drawn, came out to play a few times, board games or cards, sarcastic, nothing unfriendly just old-ladyish like he was wearing his mother’s clothes, the other kids said he had both a banana and a fruit bowl, I tried to relate that to playing doctor with Paula but couldn’t visualize it—side by side?—but it didn’t matter, Terry stopped coming out, when I rang the doorbell of the gray stone house there was silence and darkness, finally they moved away, Terry and his mother, I couldn’t imagine where boys like Terry go, hair blond like silver
Poem of mine recently appearing in The Petigru Review (click on link): https://thepetigrureview.com/mike-wilson/
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