Protected pockets and momma’s
kiss goodbye on a freshly washed cheek.
Meek to mild, this internal child dreams
of rockets and exploration and all
the sex his nocturnal suspicion
can muster. Buster browns and eyeglasses,
round and magnified to hide his
insecurities and foibles. A boy in hiding
and chiding his lack of confidence
inhibitions exhibited and held close
well past high school. A fool who
could have had all he could handle
if he would expand his horizon. Despising
everything he had become. Solace in the words
he used and abused; a poet lost,
suspenders holding his muse.
© Copyright Walter J. Wojtanik – 2013
THROUGH THE EYES OF A POET'S HEART 
Love that summary line.
Thanks, Barbara for the whole month’s worth of words. The change of scene was refreshing. And it kept me “off of the streets”.
“Suspenders holding his muse” Wow! Enjoyed all your poems, Walt, even if I don’t leave a comment.
Good as ever Walt!
Have certainly enjoyed your company this past month. I like this last poem. I can identify with much of it, even though I was never a young boy. Poetry is an amazing thing, is it not? Allowing us to climb through windows, play in another’s back yard, and always learn new ways of singing,
Elizabeth