The Little Prince
There is a little boy
Sitting in front of me,
In the four-seat
Booth-like structure one
Row from the driver,
He holds a long branch in
His palms with fierce
Concentration, watching
The tip skim along the air in
The pattern of an eight,
He is sitting in silence,
Embracing the fluid grace
Of the piece of nature in
His hands, a piece of
Outside—
Dead but not dead,
Maybe it is a sword,
Or a long thin pole holding
A tiny airplane up in the air
(For this is how I imagined them
To be when his age, supported
Or suspended),
Moments before,
A young woman sitting in
A wheel chair entered the bus
From the middle doors,
Her friend latching the seatbelt
Safely around the whole package
Of her—
It isn’t long till the boy
Turns his head to marvel at
The girl or woman making sounds
In the back, and it makes
Him break into a smile.
Now, I know what a mischievous
Smile looks like, and
This isn’t one.
It is the same kind of smile
That would light up his
Face when he sees a ladybug on
The wall, or a toy someone
Has left behind,
After a while, though
He grows agitated and hides
Behind the seat,
His short blond hair sticking up
Like a bunch of frost-bitten hay
I let my mind intervene
With the curious thoughts
Of the child—
Maybe she is a princess,
Hidden away at a remote
Island, her soul imprisoned
By evil warriors in this
Two-wheeled body that
Releases moos of suffering
As it skims through the
Rugged world we live in,
While deep in her mind she reminisces
The splendor of her kingdom,
It’s marble towers and fountains—
I am startled by a high-pitched
Laughter,
The little boy is looking at me
Smiling his smile where several
Teeth are missing from the right,
Pointing at the girl in
The back with his sword-pole-stick,
A calm look of curiosity in
His eyes,
I smile back at him as though
In reply, saying yes,
I noticed it too,
The lost princess that has
Been imprisoned inside
The body with colorful
Wheels—
The boy, a black hood on his
Head and a scratch-mark across his
Right eye and cheek—
Maybe from playing too rough,
Looks at the girl with what looks
Like longing before
Turning his attention to
The herd of cows we’re
Currently passing,
Shrieking in joy.
