Wednesday, November 1, 2017

Native Intelligence (Day 287)

He comes and goes 
under cover of darkness, 
even on a sunlit day,
the soft click click click 
of his bike gears
often the only sound 
giving him away 
when he wheels it, 
scowling and stomping, 
under my window
because he does 
not like to work.
It’s a shame, really, 
his native intelligence, 
uncultivated and neglected, 
despite the myriad 
advantages that 
ripened and fell, plum-like,
onto the green grass 
around him while 
he idled on the lawn 
outside the modest but clean
white vinyl-sided house
where he grew shabby
and thick with weeds. 
His few friends--
partners in crime, 
his mother joked 
each night when he came in
--might have considered 
his descent a warning, 
had they grown up
in a town worth 
staying in--or even 
a town worth leaving.

(c) 2017, by Hannah Six

Image: TheoLeo via Pixabay 

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