Billy

On a street long ago with a sidewalk and curb, Back when houses seemed huge, In a child's wide-eyed way. On a screen porch, played quietly, As not to disturb. For my mother was having A headache that day. All the front yards were deep, Nestled back from the street. With a walkway of concrete And large, shady trees. Every morning, I waited to yell, then retreat, When the giant man walked by, never noticing me. All I knew was the little They let children know, That he lived with his mother, On the far side of town. He was big and slumped over And walked very slow. Not a person remembered Him utter a word. As he passed by our walkway, I readied my shout, Then remembered, "Play quietly", Mom's head hurt today. I recall as he stopped, Slowly turning about, Then he started his blunderous Footsteps my way. I was puzzled and frozen, A chill up my spine. When he reached our front steps, I could hear mother say, "Hello Billy", then ask if his mom was okay, As she latched the screen door, Nudging me back away. Mother always recounted What happened that day. And she spoke of the good heart That lay deep within. It was only that once I missed shouting his way. Billy worried, not hearing His four year old friend. Gene Bourne 08-17-14