(JCH -- 6/93)
I saw a boy at the mall
walking beside me
carrying books from a record
shop
and a book store.
He looked vaguely like Lennon
as he strolled past the cookie
stand
flipping through a book of poetry.
He looked so sad.
I wanted to reach out to him,
to pull him close
to tell him I understand
and that he is not alone,
this boy in blue jeans.
But as I turned to say these
things,
I realized this boy was just
me,
my own reflection in a store-front
window.
I looked at the stranger there
wanting to know his thoughts
and to understand,
but all I felt was alone,
with the knowledge
I could never love
this boy at the mall.
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