He eats salad in class,
and states the obvious.
Nature has somehow granted him
the paradoxical combine
of a baby face and
a pronounced jawline
scattered with a not-quite-beard
he has not bothered to shave.
He would rather be barefoot,
with his sandals dropped to the floor,
and his shirts have holes.
He lost weight too quickly, it seems,
because his belt doubles over a waistline
sagging.
His hair stands on end in the front.
But, my child,
he will never be you.
There is no replacement in his
too-blue eyes.
I won't bother to say hello.

09/08/2003

Posted on 09/15/2003
Copyright © 2025 Meredith C Hartwell