adventures in dysthymia

Saturday, October 22, 2016

The Odd Boy, a poem

The Odd Boy

The odd boy can make no sense
though he wants to understand
sometimes and sometimes he doesn’t.
Sometimes he doesn’t care or says
he doesn’t, which comes to the same thing.
The odd boy knows the names of the birds
and can whistle their songs. He wishes
he could fly but wouldn’t like feathers.
He can make no sense of your words.
They are not like those in his books,
not readily seen. They are like the birds
that hide, flitting movement among
the leaves, too far away to identify.
The odd boy will ignore you, knowing
your puzzle is not worth the effort.
He has learned this, as he has learned
the names of the birds and all their songs.

Stephen Brooke ©2016

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