We are nerd-freaks at school,
Klein and I,
reckoning our teenage middle-class malaise.

In northern winter
all is still, deep and dark.
The sky fills with
dead stars.
Nose hairs freeze,
cold burns my boy-man cheeks.

Past the Gaudet's, the Kirlin's, the Pane's,
the icy snow shines in electric lamp light
in drifts against houses and cars.
My steps crunch and echo
down the lonesome street.

In Klein’s warm and darkened den,
we watch our hero,
ghastly thin, blue haired
and feathered.
Intimately he sits on the ledge
of the stage,
waves a magic wand and warbles
“Never Never Land…”
through tinny speakers in the
color TV.

Afterward, my steps crunch and echo
back up the lonesome street.

Klein and I
are dumb as shit,
with just sense enough to script
these perfect little moments.

11/26/2012

Author's Note: a wizard, a true star

Posted on 11/26/2012
Copyright © 2026 David Hill