fun of him, of course.
we were stupid
pimple
faced kids
raised
by knuckle dragging men.
we called the boy fancy
pants,
or said that he
was light in
the loafers, there was
a hint of mint
about him.
he liked boys, not
girls. but we were never sure.
he never threw a ball,
or got into
a fight.
he knew how to dance.
he played the piano,
he could sing.
he could paint and write.
in looking
back at him
i think we were jealous
and cruel,
with no
appreciation for
the finer things.
young fools.
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