The Idiot

Sheer over to the other side,—for see—
The boy straggling under those mimosas, daft
With squint lanterns in his head, and it's likely
Fumbling his sex. That's why those children laughed

In such infernal circles round his door
Once when he shouted, stretched in ghastly shape.
I hurried by. But back from the hot shore
Passed him again ... He was alone, agape;

One hand dealt out a kite string, a tin can
The other tilted, peeled end clamped to eye.
That kite aloft—you should have watched him scan
Its course, though he'd clapped midnight to noon sky!

And since, through these hot barricades of green,
A Dios gracias, grac—I've heard his song
Above all reason lifting, halt serene—
My trespass vision shrinks to face his wrong.