© 1998 Stephen L. Spanoudis, all rights reserved worldwide
||Alex Again |
- He smiles often, and warmly, and though his
- Words are still too few for his age, many
- Are the expressions he has to choose from.
- The house is large, and his small feet patter
- Quickly across the cool, broad, white tile floors.
- This is his new home. He forgets the old.
- There is no small dog to watch at this house,
- But daily he watches the slow parade
- Of black ducks through the yard to the canal.
- There are no squirrels here, no wild cherry trees,
- Only tall royal palm and coconut,
- And small hovering birds, flying jewels.
- Beside the house there is a large blue hole
- Where father takes him to dip in water
- That sparkles in the bright tropical sun.
- He is happy here, and is the master
- Of small lizards and giant dragonflies
- That scatter as he walks down the pathway.
- He sits outside in a red plastic chair,
- Arms filled with stolen hibiscus blossoms
- And cannot yet wonder what life holds next.