WORDS ON THE HORIZON

BOY IN THE BOX

The boy in the woods
flung a broken branch across;
it gave me a lump on the head.
I carried that lump over
to the cargo carriage
stationed on the bridge
and never returned
back to my apartment.

I went there to stay
at the end of town
for a fortnight,
to lope beyond city limits
without any witnesses
to my disappearance from home.

The squelch of a bad rainy spell
was over now.
I could sleep with a cover
of leaves as blanket.
I was happy to not grieve
about former civilization
that I had escaped on
a Wednesday
just half an hour before midnight.

Then the morning came.
I had promised the other two boys
who had shown me the river's
swelling graces
that we'll stand together
and hold the sun
on our chests.

***
Till that thick branch
was flung,
till the afternoon had been held back
by the clouds,
I was the outpost's resident
just before that railway bridge.

Now
I'm the boy in the box
sent down the muddy slope,
falling
and rolling,
five feet in the river.

This is my watery grave,
the tunnel of muck and foam
I drown in.
A lump on the head
can do that
to the most hopeful escapee.

****