amphibi.us

I was
a never been kissed, well dressed
prep boy.
Anxiety filled,
a puzzle piece in the wrong
box. I was country town house
in a three dimensional empire
state building.
Looking for love in all the wrong tables.

Holding
onto forty miles by the crow’s flight
rope, tethered to a post
in the middle of a cranberry bog,
I managed to pull myself
into a forest once a year.
Held onto a tree, and refused
to let my future drag me back.
Hands rubbed raw, and split
with blisters, the summer ended
and text books would
catapult me back,
to cold streets and traffic lights.

© Michael Varraso, 2010