by Mary Daurio
My friends went to sports, while I stayed on the street, dreaming their parents would say, “Come
with us, Ben.” Wouldn’t happen— they never even knew my name.
Robbery landed me in trouble, my handle in the news. Everybody knew my name then.
Dad looked out the end of a bottle, so Charlie, my caseworker, helped me mend my ways and go
to school, he cared. I got a trade.
Charlie and I take my boy and the boy-next-door, little Ronnie, who’s a lot like I was, to football.
Each child of the universe—best mended soon.
Post a Comment