Tom

One afternoon in Tucson
Indoors where it was cool
And you thought I'd forgotten
About that lizard whose tail had
Come off in your hand--cruelly you
Dangled it, wriggling wildly in
My face before dropping it into
That Maxwell House can of sand--
A disembodied tail flopping in
There, and you thought I would
Scream, but I just squealed a little
(I didn't expect it to whip so violently)
Then I lectured you, saying
"It will grow another tail now, you know.
That is how lizards get away!"

So you grinned and bragged to that other kid,
You said your sister read a lot of books
About science and animals and stuff
But still I made you give that lizard's tail
A decent burial (and I swear the lizard
Itself attended--watching from the creosote)...

That sweltering afternoon we were inside,
Enjoying modern evaporative cooling
When a voice outside the bedroom
Door barked "What are you kids doing in there?"
Annoyed at the interruption I snapped
"We're just playing Doctor!"
And neither one of us understood
Why the door flew open, or why your dad and
My mom both leaped into the room, and then
We did not figure out for a few years yet (god,
We were young!) why they were laughing and
Jabbering incoherently back down the stairs while
We stood there,
Perplexed,
Fully clothed,
Prescribing candy pills from
A toy doctor-kit,
With stethoscopes in hand.

For Tom...
September 30, 1956 - February 7, 2007