Primary tabs
an excerpt by Richard Kenney
My boy thinks the world’s a spitball
Flipped with a silver spoon;
My boy’s blind to the world of fur
And fin and feather and bloom.
My boy’s bright, notwithstanding,
Moreover, and nonetheless;
He hasn’t heard the question yet,
But he knows there’ll be a test…
Each has a feel for the shadowsome,
And the ventricles of men;
The one recalling endlessly
The other one again.
