“Boyhood”
for Richard (“Buz” (“Pop”)) Russell
Flapping wings to call you home
a red barn and dirty boots
your mother’s writing poetry
and we drive around in circles
you were embarrassed to be lost
and you wanted us to be together
on an orange-leaf afternoon
you’ll crack a smile and know everything
and I’ll learn.
There’s a rumor about boyhood,
although ours felt centuries apart:
boys don’t cry,
don’t hurt,
and don’t feel.
But that’s just a rumor about boyhood—
that’s just horse feed and crab apples.
Let’s ride our horses through the dark,
patting the hot metal on backs of trucks
ready to haul lumber to glittering casinos.
Let’s live one more rumor about boyhood
before they find us hiding in the woods
with flashlights near tents
before they find us to tell me you’re gone.
nicholauspatnaude 