Curiously Baited

By K.B. Smith (Contributor)

Thomas lived on my street
For many years I saw that flop of hair
His poise and gestures returning when he saw me
And I sketched out the possibilities of him tripping

That boy, Thomas
Eyes; like that of winter
A face that only a mother could love
And he
With his gapped teeth
Gestures to me in such a manner I did not understand

His pile was out back
And he the captain of what he called “ship”
In more so missing the letter T in replacement of P
Once invited me to join him
And my reply was ignoring
And that language was blunt

Body clutched like an angry animal
Never understanding what I meant
“No? No!?”
He’d ask and shrug his tiny shoulders
Taking strings and bits of board out back
Colouring them as if he owned the place
It was just garbage to me
But to him
His masterpiece

And I could never understand Thomas Turnpipe
And his cardboard tugboat he called ship
And I could never understand why he tried
To make me join him

Curiosity struck me
Thomas Turnpipe
You caught me with that fishing rod of yours
And lured my wonder; like a fish

Source: Domenique Bruno
Source: Domenique Bruno

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