she is a fine crystal goblet
and a red rose in bloom
I am dirty white socks
and a cluttered bedroom
she is ribbon and lace
and ice cream parfaits
I am jeans and sneakers
touchdowns and double plays
she is theater tickets
and dinner for two at eight
I am pop-tarts and apple juice
but I never gain weight
she's a mother's delight
and a boy's constant prayer
I am band-aids, chewing gum
an afro comb in my hair
I like soft jazz and Motown
I’d read more books if I had time
and so I write poetry
some are abstract and some rhyme
so why does this thorn bush
seem so fond of this rose?
there are many questions to ask
the answers no one knows
you could be a can of pledge
and I, a table full of dust
you could clean me and shine me
and mend me if I bust
you are so civilized
and I am living in a tree
so take my hand, walk along
and somehow civilize me