Morning Solitude Poem by Herbert Nehrlich

Yes, and BASTA, I do walk in the fields,
they are all mine as well as yours,
no God that I would ever know
would give you rights of exclusivity,
to dewdrops, grass and sticky clay.

I'm one with all the things I see,
the rabbit hiding, thinking he can fool
a teacher's eyes and keen perception?
I step around the living things and splash
inside the puddles from the recent rain,
no one can see me now, I am that child
that you, my precious parents snatched away!

Away from the joys
and the hand-me-down toys,
from the worms in all pockets
and the spiders in shoes,
and the trips to the pantry
to the desk in the den
for cigars and Sarotti
and the booklet of nudes
all the photos of Jan
with her Austrian dudes.
I do talk to the hoppers
in the greenest of grass
and no critter avoids me
not one ever has.
I have leapt into manhood
with the kick of your boots
and I think that the devil
was with you in cahoots.