poetry
 
THE SISTERHOOD OF OLD MEN
 


At a busy stop,
the Sisterhood of Old Men
work on a pretty little Boy:

"You're young to have
a sassy mouth
like that."

"He's still too young
to know
which way is up."

"Wrong step,
and the bus'll
run you over."

"He knows."

One's got a plastic bag
and gold ringing each joint.

One's a bony mensch.

One frowns out the corners
of watery eyes,
providing essential gravity.

An Autistic,
groomed for Sunday school,
attends the Men like an acolyte.

They beg the boy
to a patient Nanny cleave:

"Hold onto her. Hold onto her. Hold onto her."