Soon he will climb the steps of the school bus
and be thinking nothing of me. So young,
and hooked to me as he is now, though, even
when my son is mad at me or just moody
that morning, he is sure to take a window seat
where I can see him in profile from the doorstep.
And from under his hiding hoodie his eyes,
barely perceptible through the tint, will cut
toward mine at the lunging hiss of the air brakes.
First appeared in THAT Literary Review
M. A. ISTVAN JR., PhD, whose life is to his poetry what Caravaggio’s life is to his painting, has been a university instructor for a decade. His susceptibility to complete abandon in the classroom, which enables him to confess even deep secrets to his students.
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