10-10-2013, 09:25 AM
PETER
He came upon me mid-morning. I slipped
blue cotton over my head. Straightened the wrinkled
jumper. And he squatted there. In the oak tree.
Waited. Curious and delighted. As a child is
when finding something unexpected.
A late summer breeze floated by.
Pushed open the double French doors
leading to the balcony. Nimble, he slipped
down from his branch. Came
into my realm. We looked for his shadow.
Silly boy for losing it. Twilight fell.
We would find it tomorrow. The glint in his eye
said he would be back. Parting words.
He came not the next day. The day after Tuesday.
Dusk. There was a magical something
he would show me. First touch.
Intertwined hands. He led me beyond the balcony.
And from a distance it wasn’t a balcony. But a pearl.
Cut in half, with two shadows strewn across it.
And I knew we would not be back
for a time. His laugh told me so.
So I joined in. Flying with flips. Tumbled into
Neverland. Where the air was sweet.
Like overripe fruit—the kind you choke on
if you take too large a bite. The lost boys
breathed heavy. Lollying about the grotto. Drunk.
And sweaty. Tended to by the forest sprites. They danced
on the boys bellies. Bulging, fed too well. Like rich
old men in underground clubs. In the lagoon
there were mermaids. Frolicking and splashing—
a real show for the young shipmen. And they waded,
seduced. Grinning faces beckoning them beneath.
The glass surface concealing the sea’s black widows.
He played with them. Caught the glint in his eye—
he was one step ahead. I was a pawn. A cruel game.
And the girls. More beautiful than the girls in magazines.
I sucked in the rotten sweet air. Let it fill my lungs
my heart. My head. I had to jump. The plank
on the golden ship made it so. And the tic-tock
croc. Spiny tail and claws of god. Hunger in his yellowed eyes.
Fear and sorrow at the epoch’s passing—so potent. The ripe breeze turned
to death. He ravaged the mermaids and consumed their breathless
lovers. Devoured the succulent youth. Seasoned
with fairy dust. One by one. But he had saved the best for last.
Let the constant beating echo through the young boy. Drove him mad.
Pleading for the haunt tock to stop. By the end.
A young dead boy lie on my balcony. Alabaster tomb.
The grandfather clock resting down the hall spoke—
a hollow chime. And I couldn’t be in the nursery any more.
He came upon me mid-morning. I slipped
blue cotton over my head. Straightened the wrinkled
jumper. And he squatted there. In the oak tree.
Waited. Curious and delighted. As a child is
when finding something unexpected.
A late summer breeze floated by.
Pushed open the double French doors
leading to the balcony. Nimble, he slipped
down from his branch. Came
into my realm. We looked for his shadow.
Silly boy for losing it. Twilight fell.
We would find it tomorrow. The glint in his eye
said he would be back. Parting words.
He came not the next day. The day after Tuesday.
Dusk. There was a magical something
he would show me. First touch.
Intertwined hands. He led me beyond the balcony.
And from a distance it wasn’t a balcony. But a pearl.
Cut in half, with two shadows strewn across it.
And I knew we would not be back
for a time. His laugh told me so.
So I joined in. Flying with flips. Tumbled into
Neverland. Where the air was sweet.
Like overripe fruit—the kind you choke on
if you take too large a bite. The lost boys
breathed heavy. Lollying about the grotto. Drunk.
And sweaty. Tended to by the forest sprites. They danced
on the boys bellies. Bulging, fed too well. Like rich
old men in underground clubs. In the lagoon
there were mermaids. Frolicking and splashing—
a real show for the young shipmen. And they waded,
seduced. Grinning faces beckoning them beneath.
The glass surface concealing the sea’s black widows.
He played with them. Caught the glint in his eye—
he was one step ahead. I was a pawn. A cruel game.
And the girls. More beautiful than the girls in magazines.
I sucked in the rotten sweet air. Let it fill my lungs
my heart. My head. I had to jump. The plank
on the golden ship made it so. And the tic-tock
croc. Spiny tail and claws of god. Hunger in his yellowed eyes.
Fear and sorrow at the epoch’s passing—so potent. The ripe breeze turned
to death. He ravaged the mermaids and consumed their breathless
lovers. Devoured the succulent youth. Seasoned
with fairy dust. One by one. But he had saved the best for last.
Let the constant beating echo through the young boy. Drove him mad.
Pleading for the haunt tock to stop. By the end.
A young dead boy lie on my balcony. Alabaster tomb.
The grandfather clock resting down the hall spoke—
a hollow chime. And I couldn’t be in the nursery any more.