Many years ago, I was at home one evening, when a thin, gamine sixteen-year-old knocked on my door. It was one of the stranger moments of my life, and one which I’ve rarely spoken about.
At odd moments, I wonder what became of this girl, who would now be a woman in her early 30s.
THE LITTLE HOODLUM
She came to my door one night, this strange waif
Bemoaning her violent father
And her police-curfew for carrying a weapon
I gave her tea and a banana
And she spoke to me proudly about
How she knew Klinger’s bra size.
After lengthy phone conversations
With Child Services, who knew her well
Her aunt offered to take her in
Her having refused to take a cab
I offered to drive her
With requisite permission from authorities
Leaving my own small children with my partner
We journeyed south
Making small talk all the way
Until we arrived at her aunt’s
Who coldly declared “You can stay one night”
And then slammed the door in my face.