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 as if for Sunday school,
attends them like an acolyte.

The Old Men beg the boy
to his patient nanny cleave:

“Hold onto her. Hold onto her. Hold onto her.”

No related posts.