A boy, maybe 5, dancing
in the candy aisle of a megastore
at 6 a.m., a month before Halloween
is overjoyed by the harvest
on every shelf, his caramel skin
aglow, his hair a perfect 'fro,
his black t-shirt and black jeans
the right outfit for his performance.
And although he has the moves
he’s more a cub scout than
another Michael Jackson.
He has the aisle to himself
except for me and my cart
at one end and a clerk
with a box at the other
both of us stunned to see
a boy with no arms dancing
in the candy aisle till mother
comes and scoops him up,
plops him in her empty cart.
Both laugh and disappear.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
A fine portrait from The Donal's perceptive eye!