Boyhood 03 by Franklin Dong The road runs wide Down the forest path, Where you took me on a muddy strollMy shoes clung on to the dirt, And reeked of preconception. You smiled so wide, not knowing Your lip was bleeding. Oh, but which one is pain? I perceive the truth left unsaid: We are as old as the world allows, But my world isn’t real. I’m sure you felt for me, at least, My presence was occurring: Waving arms under the ascending plane, You must’ve heard me on your way to the sky. You tipped me with your coffee money, Obnoxiously flipping crumpled bills Onto the littered desk. The day you left was pink and purple. The muddy stroll was blocking my mind’s eye. Last seconds of your presence was like any other, Beautifully ambiguous. A book of poetry you bestowed on me- damp from my pen’s tears, Departs from his previous owner, In an expected, arranged fashion. Some prepare their funerals,
Poetry 13
