A Little Boy’s Soliloquizing
Today I saw a little boy soliloquize
Under his stairway at noon
When the elders were snoring and dreaming
about their last night hangovers.
He chose the stairway because
That’s the only place that didn’t echo
His parents’ thunders, Nor did the elder boys’
homeless kites venture there.
Earlier, when I caught him stealthily passing
And asked his whereabouts;
he lied about searching for his lost kite.
But I didn’t stop him
And waited for his monologues.
Now, under the stairway, his voice
became consciously fragile
I kept watching the drama
Not meant for an audience.
It was clear he was speaking
to his fancies; His facial weather changes
told me who they were.
When he was cold and red,
he was his father;
when he was meek and sheepish,
he became his mother.
And when he gestured about turning
The pages of a book, I knew it was me.
When he asked like his father,
he answered as his mother.
But when he asked like myself,
he answered as himself.
And, that was the most satisfying moment
Of this whole monologue.