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Knute Skinner

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The Child

“You will have noticed that I haven’t
mentioned the child’s name yet.”
She articulated these words
with unavoidable emphasis
and gave me another of her long searching looks.

I think she must have rehearsed
those long searching looks,
but she should have put her money
in a better mirror.

And she should have worn something other
than that polyester suit.
My oldest housedress would have looked better on her.
She should have done something with her hair.

It’s to my eternal credit that I didn’t laugh,
but I did take another look at the child.
He was slight of build, blond, seven or eight,
wearing a plaid wool shirt and a pair of jeans.
He had obviously been told to smile.

All this I had already noticed.

I had noticed, too, that some last few leaves
were scattering through the park –
where the old men on the benches
sat hunched in their coats,
aware of inevitable snow.

But that was all I had noticed.


 

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