From The Greek: Poem by Rosemarie Sprouls

From the Greek:
Autos 'self' + ism

Fingers point
the market,
the airport,
the beach,
the park,
the classroom
of average kids:
fingers
'What's wrong with him? '
Her suburban replies
remedy the unacquainted:
'I spoiled him.'
Her unconventional
solutions unnerve
their ignorance.
Homeopaths,
reflexologists,
acupuncturists,
allergists search
for alternatives
to hopelessness,
to the little body
battles clouding
the causes,
to flapping
speechless pleas.
His environment,
our government,
their sexual evolution:
Backlashes captured
in an uncommunicative
boy on the floor,
on the cusp of trust
and frustration.
He voyages on a carpet
of bright blue, red
and green plastic toys,
fits together the pieces
created for FAO smiles,
for competitive parents
buying lawyer bibs
for their babies.
He is five and drools,
moans, howls in melodic
staccato. The waiting
room watches his mother
discipline strength
and force, follow
through and praise.
He smiles past everyone,
past the tyco zebra,
his inner fence fastening
on the wall, keeping
in the out, trapping
the knat, the mole,
the glaze behind the haze.
Everyday his mother's
January highway sun blinding
the way beyond the glare.