Boys will be Boys

His 4-year-old hands 

were dug into mud.

Once dirt, the creation 

had been concocted with

the aid of the bird bath. 

His mother shakes her head,

giggling at the mess. 

Boys will be boys. 

-

His fingers are longer,

But still chubby, 

as he takes his 10th turn

around the sun. 

With those phalanges, he 

grabs at her pigtails,

tugging and pulling

despite her high-pitched protests. 

But, don’t you know he just likes you? 

Boys will be boys. 

-

Those fingerprints are the same. 

Yet the hand that holds them, older. 

He slams his foot onto the accelerator,

pinning it to the floor,

and the RPM’s climb higher. 

The blocked, black numbers on the signs 

are meaningless against his desire 

for something more powerful, faster. 

Rules are merely suggestions, and 

Boys will be boys. 

-

The fingers are rougher,

a few more scars puckering knuckles. 

Speed and power are desires that burn in him.

Her skin gleaming just below her collar bone

speaks to him like the rev of that engine.

And like everything before, 

he feels he deserves it. 

So he takes it, reminding himself that

she wanted it and

she was asking for it and 

he’s just a man and 

Boys will be Boys.