Sometimes my little boy

Unevolved self

Takes over the command center of my brain

Screams jealously

Craves attention

The rational side pleads

Be quiet

She’s busy

For good reason

The little boy


Stomps his feet

Where is she?

Shouting anger



Then, the deeper me emerges

He laughs them off, those petty urges

Smiling as the boy becomes the man

Concerned about

His rash impositions

Flawed attempts to communicate

Lack of empathy

Inability to be at the table of white towel waving fans applauding the banjo lady

And worried that these unalterable deficiencies

Might be noticed


Subtracted from the sum of the good parts

When all he really wants

Is to give away

His heart



David Trudel   © 2012



Filed under Poetry

2 responses to “Sometimes

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