Come on, boy, I say.
It’s getting close to dark,
and I promised Mama,
after running off like I did
on her birthday, that I
wouldn’t stay out here
once the sun went down.
She’s never said sorry
for coming home like she did,
tripping around like my
daddy used to do.
Charlie says Mama’s
under a lot of stress,
on account of her job
and Daddy leaving
and the schoolwork
she has to make sure we do.
I think she adds
that last part to make me
feel guilty or something,
and it works, just a little.
I did my work today,
before coming out here.
through the trees, toward home,
and I can almost feel my daddy,
running right behind me,
the way he used to.
When we’re almost home,
Milo’s feet uncover a leaf
shaped exactly like a teardrop.
I pick it up and stuff it
in my pocket
so it doesn’t crumble.
Why do I pick it up?
I reckon it’s like me.
Different from all the others.
I’m the only boy in town
whose daddy was a criminal.