Boy Scout

I cry at Chain Bridge.
It's the same thing,
when father takes his time
showing up and the earth
gapes all the way to chaos.
It's when the money runs out
and the business fails.
The scouts all laugh
as they stand near their
neat packs with all their
plans stacked beside them.
I wonder what the crying does.
When I cry
someone warm
strokes me,
kneeling in front
with curled face,
warm breath,
return to Eden,
at 13 in the dangerous
age of sissies.