The Pants

Spread in bed
with his monkey bedspread
Mama bringing Kool-Aid, her hand touching
his forehead where the sweat poured
he reads Jack the Giant Killer
imagines school without him
imagines wearing the new, flowered
bell-bottoms she brought him

how tight how loud they’d be
the garish dayglo a blaze of style
unsustained by inner cool of any kind
eyes averted from piqued stares
the pixie girls who wanted him
but could not know it or say it
except by giggling

his foghorn pants blowing his locker-neutral cover
forcing his heels higher than his
4-foot frame could rise

she slipped the mercury thermometer
beneath his tongue
he eyed the box
special order from Rich’s Department Store
her great effort at healing his boyhood
his pants chased him across the schoolyard blacktop

in her mind he would make it now

in his mind he closed the box
but tight

he sunk deeper into his fevered sheets
shivering, knees folded close
climbing the beanstalk
into the sky

About David

Prone to musing and to being prone. Father to two, writer, engineer.
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