It's For Life
By Barbara Crooker
My autistic son listens to the oldies,
digs that old time rock ‘n roll rhythm & blues.
My husband says it’s like our teen years
are hanging out in his room, coming from the radio—
When the night is dark, and the land is far
and the moon is the only light you see—…
What misfired neurons cause him to shake
and fidget his fingers before his eyes,
call out in class when the teacher’s talking,
be out of synch with everyone else?
Up on the roof it’s peaceful
as can be, and there the world below
can’t bother me. When we’re gone, what then?
What slot will he fit into like a quarter
slipping in a jukebox for three plays,
slow songs you could dance to all night long?
Copyright © by the owner.