Prodigal Son

Tony, the school called.. you’re gifted!!

disinterest in rigidity of the
testing rules prompting
due malaise

soft imagination, woven threads
into dreams of beasts and
crafty basement

hatching cruel schemes in our
torched pits ’til any bridge
starts caving,

crawls on elbows from
all those boyground battles,
bright tailed, chest
grown hairy,

a little hero with that
scary brain worth



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