Two Boys
© 2009
Dan Johnson

Two boys travelled on the bus one day.
One, a Tuesday Boy,
The other, Wednesday’s lad,
Each carried burdens deeply hidden away.

Tuesday’s Boy spent his life in a chair,
With wheels that rolled him up and on the bus
And another set of wheels churned away inside his head.
He spoke with his crooked fingers going in mayhem’s direction
He touched his caregiver, first on her side,
then trying in vain to stroke her short blond hair,
she shied from his advances with a warning, behave, stay away.
could he tell, did he know, was he aware, did he really care?
Or did he crave the need to touch and be touched and held and loved?

Wednesday’s Boy jumped on the bus,
He greeted the driver with a handshake and hello.
Hong, a Vietnamese lad of maybe 19 or 23,
Sat next to me and first shook my hand then from nowhere,
He wrapped his arms around my neck and hugged me,
“Where you from?” he asked
“Chicago” is what I said.
“I’m from Miami, you go to Miami?”
“I’ve never been there, but would like to go.”
“Go…you have fun in Miami…where you go now?”
“Home” is all I said…“Me too” his sudden but quiet reply.
Then he went from friendly, outgoing, full of life… to sullen.
Hong got off the bus somewhere on Milwaukie… just past QFC.
As he prepared to leave I said “Good-bye Hong,” he nodded and pleadingly stared at me.

Two boys travelled on the bus one day.
One a Tuesday Boy,
The other, Wednesday’s lad,
Each carried burdens deeply hidden away.