The Kid Next Door

A Poem by Blake Fodor

He runs wild and shirtless,
screaming throughout the day.
His mother chases him,
threatening his name.

Sometimes he makes it out the door.
Sometimes he gets as far as the street.
Sometimes he's at the curb.
Fear stops his feet.

His young Pavarotti lungs are quiet then.
There is no screaming to be heard,
apart from his hysterical mother
and the power of her word.

He hovers there, toes in the abyss.
His flabby legs look ready to leap.
He sways in the breeze of the cars.
His mother blasts a shriek.

He whirls around almost falling over.
His eyes are huge and watery.
He's earned a curse that might be his first word.
He shrieks like he's won the lottery.

Now he's toddling around the backyard,
shrieking at the family cat.
The feline comes here often,
to get away from all that.