Boyish Dreams of Manhood

Joey nearly topples under the weight of his aluminum bat as he swings

his office door closed with a sigh and, tossing cold takeout on his desk, he

Gallops across the dusty backyard, plastic silver gun gleaming in its holster, pulling

the knot of his tie straight before he enters the conference room, shaky about his

First sixth-grade dance, the one where he plans to ask Marjorie Coleman to

hold his calls — boss wants to see him — God, how he needs some antacid to settle

The score with Eddie, who pushes his glasses up on his nose while he talks, saying

it’s the worst report he’s ever seen come across his desk and maybe he ought to

Go outside and watch fire trucks roar past, waving at the men in hats who grin and

apologize, promising to do better next time, feeling his shirt collar grow warm

In the sunshine, sherbet dripping between his fingers, a Daddy Longlegs lazily dragging

his briefcase past the shiny black sports car to his own dusty wagon and opens

His sleeping bag with a whoosh! Lighting the coal oil lantern he giggles and munches on

the end of a cigarette, tapping his thumbs on the steering wheel in time to

The hush of ghost stories told on blankets of marshmallows, staying up all night to

rock the crying baby and send wide-eyed worries to the ceiling before

Morning comes and Mom brings hot cocoa and the boys hurry to get to practice and

briskly kisses his wife goodbye to start it all again. So much to do. So much to do.

So much to do, but still Joey pauses a moment to imagine himself as a grown man, he

pauses to remember himself as a little boy. He can almost feel the holster warm on his hip.