He is not yet stuck with the daily task
of scraping his face with steel
or the mighty task of bending his will
nightly to woman's will.
Sometimes he seems like a god in disguise
Sometimes more clutz than god;
now a study in terminal cool
now a pimply kid.
Anything he wants to do he can do
providing his grades are good
Anything he wants to be he can be
depending on his mood.
In his dream-disheveled night-
strange, new velocities,
burdens, wild entanglements
and springing free.
The 'I' that women shoulder like a handbag
eludes him as yet,
but as his eye is clear, his purpose long,
he'll swim his way to it.
robert dickerson
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/boy-25/
