Theresa Boyar


It's unfair, really, to say still when he's out there,
moving, adjusting.  The morning sun barely breaking
the treeline holds the glare of slick leather and studs

to a minimum.  He sets down his backpack,
which in this light carries the chance
of sandwiches packed at dawn by a doting mother.

His hair, tranquil cobalt, razored soft, will blaze
to hard peacock brilliance later in the day. 
But here, the tiny chain swinging from ear

to nose could be a gum machine's prize.
Silver-sprayed and plastic, it holds little weight. 
He bends over boots and spends equal time

with each leg, hiking up ripped denim to meticulously
straighten the stark white socks beneath. 
His face is the color of clean stones under water

and, aligning his socks just so, there's no hint of a sneer. 
He smoothes the jeans back into place.  Again: just so.  
He's anxious when he rises, glancing to make sure no one

has seen, and then he's off, slumping
toward the high school four blocks away
where, within minutes, he'll be someone else entirely.

Date of Birth: August 31, 1969
Location: Helena, Montana
Publications: 42opus, flashquake, Slow Trains, The Paumanok Review, The Pedestal, Eclectica, The Rose and Thorn, etc.
Awards: Three-time Pushcart Prize nominee

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