The First Time Ii Poem by Morgan Michaels

'Well, well', he smiled, 'is that so'.
inviting me to look into his glittering, prescient, black eyes-
so much like mine, that said, like mine
'I am not what I seem'.
'I've written poems, too. We shall see'.
The shrubs half-exhaled in relief but remained vigilant.
He bellowed not, see.
No, he saw me in return
doubtless as a creature stuck in eternal, inarguable boyhood
like a fly fixed forever in amber;
boyhood like meanings, pictures that resonate and magnify-
amber like fun,
the boy who'd be the man who'd be Peter Pan
flight being one thing you can't argue with.

But he despared, I knew,
because I saw a cloud ascend his brow-
this was the suburbs after all.
'Whose fault...