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John Grey
The Autistic Boy and the Hose
John Grey
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He loved having the hose turned on him, that stream of cool liquid splashing every part of his body. It didn't even have to be a hot day.
He would reach up and try to catch to catch the water but it would slip through his fingers or slap against his palms and splatter in all directions.
He connected to that flow more than he did with people. Towel him dry and he'd be friendless.
Sid’s Future
John Grey
What do you want to be when you grow up? she asked the class.
Lots of doctors and lawyers. But only the one who volunteered — I'm gonna sell knockoff hand-bags like my old man.
The girls spoke up with perfect pitch, The boys erupted, but gently, like bubbles on a surface.
I wanna be bugged by the cops, he continued. Where's your vendor's license? Did this stuff fall off the back of the truck?
The others were rehearsed by the homes they came from. He was engineered by visits to the big house.
John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident now living in Rhode Island, recently published in Sheepshead Review, Stand, Washington Square Review and Floyd County Moonshine. Latest books, Covert, Memory Outside The Head, and Guest Of Myself are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in the McNeese Review, Rathalla Review and Open Ceilings.
