Childhood poem assignment- no title yet

[sarahmichigan]

The first day of first grade, Danny went
To school with his arm encased in a cast.
His older sister Bonnie had
Ended an argument by shoving
His fist through the glass in the front door.
The Seatons, a loud Irish family,
Had bought the house on the corner
That summer, and their move-in fights
Made every other family dysfunction on the block
Look like eccentricity or whimsy.

Teenaged Judy and Terri were sexy neighborhood
Nymphs, but Bonnie was a terror.
How many tires did the red-haired lassie slash?
How many times did she run away?
The oldest, Miles, was often talked about, but
Rarely seen. Perhaps he'd seen and had enough before
He joined the Navy at 17 and a half.

My first French kiss was from
Danny, at the insistence of his sister. Bonnie smashed
Our faces together for her friends' amusement.
No wonder Danny's ideas about sex were warped—
His seven-year-old hard-on
Was the first I ever saw. Playing doctor
Was nothing out of the ordinary, but he
Sat on my back and probed my
Butt with his finger until I squealed in discomfort.
We had no more innocent sleepovers
After Terri discovered us playing
"New York Flasher" in the basement laundry room.
I still remember Danny trying to hide his
Scrawny nakedness in one of his sister's
Fuzzy robes, the yellow of Big Bird's feathers.

When we were in third grade, Danny's mother
Moved out to live with a lover, and the unthinkable
D word floated around the house. Visits to the
Lover's house were odd—full of cigarette smoke and
Offers of nickels and dimes if we would
Make ourselves scarce for an hour.
Danny's father, Pete, was a lost soul without
His Pat, though he tried for the children's sake.
He somehow didn't know that raisins don't go
In chili, and after two bites, he saw our sour faces
And told Danny if we didn't like it, we could flush
It down the toilet. So we did.

Later during grade school, Danny and I stopped
Being friends. Though we passed in the halls
In junior high and high school, he was part of the
Stoner crowd, and I was a Drama Fag, and we walked by
Without acknowledging the years we'd spent together
Playing kick-the-can, hide-and-seek, and Parcheesi.

Caroling with my family my sophomore year of college,
We visited Pete, alone in the enormous house
That'd been purchased with such high hopes for
That gaggle of red-headed children. He recognized me,
Beamed, saying he'd say hello to Danny for me.
Danny was in the Navy, now, and doing so well, Pete told us.

I wonder if he ever did pass along a hello. I wonder if Danny
Remembers showing me the sea monkeys
He'd ordered from the back of a comic book or
The hours we played with matchbox cars
And marbles. Does he remember dressing up as Jesus
For the Harvest party in my church's basement?
I try to imagine Danny as a father, what his children
Would be like. Are they strawberry blonde
Ghost children? Holy terrors? I try to imagine
What he tells them when they trace their little fingers
Over the fine white scars on his wrists.
Or have those faded by now?

Comments

[madrigalblue.livejournal.com]

I might find this to be a difficult assignment.

The structure of your poem works really well. There is a very definitive beginning/middle/end structure.

One technical thing-- in the third stanza, 'probe' should probably be 'probed.'

[sarahmichigan.livejournal.com]

Thanks for the feedback. I'll check the typo/grammar problem right now.