He Can’t Begin to Express

He Can’t Begin to Express

He can’t begin to express

The terror he feels as he steps,

As an eight year old, off the railroad

Tracks between 107th Street and one

Little block to 108th Street Christian

Elementary School.

 

He sits along the window and recalls

The blond boy with the devil in his

Blue eyes sitting across from him

Who poked a #2 pencil into

The arm of a pretty little blond, blue-

Eyed girl who sat directly in front

Of him.

 

“The authorities looked at my hair and

Into my eyes and asked me instead of

The boy where my #2 pencil was.

I couldn’t find it.”

 

He doesn’t remember being accused of

The crime but then again he wonders

If he remembers history correctly at all.

What narrative would prevail?  That the

Blond haired, devil in his blue-eyes boy

Stabbed the pretty little blond, blue-

Eyed girl who sat directly in front of him,

 

Or that the authorities had it right to begin

With?  He stands in the kitchen, pulls the

Knife, sees his blue eyes reflected in the

Blade, runs his finger across the blade and

Puts it back in the knife holder.  He picks

Up his glass of white wine, takes a sip;

Franz Kafka pops into his mind and

 

He thinks he sees Franz’ blue eyes.

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