You didn’t even cry.
Just hunkered there in my arms
blinking with meek lids
staring
as if to say,
‘Is this the right place?’
Maybe it isn’t.
Maybe it is.
But there we were, the newest of companions.
If nothing else,
you were swift to stake your claim.
That time you loosed your little bowels
in my hands.
The dinner you gave back
while in bed
on my face
twice.
When you loosed expletives
at the bedroom door
as if it were a bartender
denying you a beverage.
The time you leapt headlong
into the filthy water
and nearly died
but came out laughing.
Your odd disdain for corn.
Your completely understandable hatred
of Mondays.
Your well-aimed,
tiny yet formidable
fists.
When you asked me
whether bubble gum counts as dessert.
The way food touching
pretty much causes
the end of the world.
Eccentricities, some might say.
The building bricks
of a child
one day a man.
Not to me.
These are the foibles of a friend.
The wisest sage among
little boys
the world has ever known.
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For more words, find me here.
J Edward Neill