Boy Poem by robert dickerson

He is not yet stuck with the daily task
of scraping his face with steel
or the mighty task of bending his will
nightly to woman's will.

Sometimes he seems like a god in disguise
Sometimes more clutz than god;
now a study in terminal cool
now a pimply kid.

Anything he wants to do he can do
providing his grades are good
Anything he wants to be he can be
depending on his mood.

In his dream-disheveled night-
strange, new velocities,
burdens, wild entanglements
and springing free.

The 'I' that women shoulder like a handbag
eludes him as yet,
but as his eye is clear, his purpose long,
he'll swim his way to it.