Anonymous Americas

That Boy

Is the house turned topsy-turvy?
Does it ring from street to roof?
Will the racket still continue,
Spite of all your mild reproof?
Are you often in a flutter?
Are you sometimes thrilled with joy?
Then I have my grave suspicions
That you have at home--that Boy.

Are your walls and tables hammered?
Are your nerves and ink upset?
Have two eyes, so bright and roguish,
Made you every care forget?
Have your garden beds a prowler,
Who delights but to destroy?
These are well-known indications
That you have at home--that Boy.

Have you seen him playing circus
With his head upon the mat,
And his heels in mid-arm twinkling--
For his audience, the cat?
Do you ever stop to listen,
When his merry planks annoy,--
Listen to a voice that whispers,
You were once just like--that Boy?

Have you heard of broken windows,
And with nobody to blame?
Have you seen a trousered urchin
Quite unconscious of the same?
Do you love a teasing mixture
Of perplexity and joy?
You may have a dozen daughters,
But I know you've got--that Boy.

Poem Submitted: Monday, April 5, 2010

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