Puppy-dog luck

He was the boy who followed,

as consistent as bed time, as smart

as well-tied laces—I did them myself.

As certain as my shadow, keeping

time with my latest scheme and excitement.

I don’t remember much until later,

when I finger the old photographs

in a first-grade scrapbook and notice the boy,

his head perched on my shoulder like an owl.

He sketched his best impression of Godzilla too,

hoping to get his depiction of the immortal

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

school mascot on that year’s shirt. That shirt hangs

in my closet now, our two green Goliaths smiling

through a mouth full of inky teeth. A little Michelangelo,

painting the school

with dogged persistence and puppy-dog luck.

Man of the earth

Give a boy a shovel

and give him a noble quest,

a reason to become one with the earth and claim

the dirt’s simple beauties. I was determined,

empowered, focused, precise.

I was a boy with a shovel, digging the birth of a garden,

the home of things that grow up.

I was a boy with a man’s shovel, burrowing down to outer space

when she showed up, nameless,

blurred like a bad polaroid shot,

walking down the street with a friend. But I was just

a miner, an archeologist, until the friend crossed

the boundary of the sidewalk to giggle and deliver

—my friend thinks you’re cute.

Who knew love at first sight

was watching a boy dig a hole in the ground.