THE BURNSVILLE KID

Man in perversions grip, girl in polio’s
My name his name, premature by a moon
Beat me to life
To the doctors hand
To the name he once held
“97 pound runt”
walked hunched
thoughts perpetually moving toward any point on the compass
wherever the spinners arrow lands
flicked by his minds eye
an inner force I never had
elan vital of creative evolvement
talent, maybe genius…..missed divine
small, thin and frail
alabaster like all B.M.W.’s *- “it’s in the genes”
talked soft in a whiney murmur,sometimes muttering
thin twitching lips, small eyes with black “Sellers” frames
avoiding eye contact, typical Minnesotan
at home always hearing his name called in a shrilled voice
sometimes hers, sometimes the pervs
positivity  never
girls good  -  boy bad
Few images remain
     Hot dusty roads in eight millimeter
     Buried cigarette butts exhumed in a nocturnal treasure hunt
     Hot spoon candle light and junkies vein fed while the perv descends staircase and knocks
     Dads secret porn stash  -  soft up front, hard to the back
     “If I was a weaker man, I’d get nauseous” you once said after missing the eight ball in the side pocket
David of old killed the giant Philistine
My David was slain by a bigger Goliath  - despair
Oral electrocution, lead ball
Gone without weeping from me in my youth
I rejected him
Not too late to embrace him
Two decades pass to revived images
Weeping now
We’ll meet up again and talk
     For aeons I’ll listen and smile
       Daniel Wick   1997-98