Who we were led to follow
Jetsam
The boy follows his mother out.
All the choices that will ever matter
already line her irredeemable face.
He knows he is bound to her like those pitiful
dogs one sees roped to haggard ragamuffins
along the roadside in the middle of nowhere.
He turns to look at me as I watch them leave
and we know, we both know, we never had
any say in the matter, that who we were led
to follow was luck or the lack of it. He knows,
too, that I can do nothing whatsoever to help
him just as no one could do anything for me.
A path along a high narrow ledge without
rail or rescue. He turns to catch up to her,
does, and once more glances back at me.
As the moment dims between us, we see one
another clearly—stranded, adrift, faring sons
under sail on a sea much bigger than we.
All the choices that will ever matter
already line her irredeemable face.
He knows he is bound to her like those pitiful
dogs one sees roped to haggard ragamuffins
along the roadside in the middle of nowhere.
He turns to look at me as I watch them leave
and we know, we both know, we never had
any say in the matter, that who we were led
to follow was luck or the lack of it. He knows,
too, that I can do nothing whatsoever to help
him just as no one could do anything for me.
A path along a high narrow ledge without
rail or rescue. He turns to catch up to her,
does, and once more glances back at me.
As the moment dims between us, we see one
another clearly—stranded, adrift, faring sons
under sail on a sea much bigger than we.
Joseph Gallo
February 17, 2014
February 17, 2014
post-time 9:40 PM
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