Cello Boy
Too long, the cello boy's cuff covers his fingers
clear to the bow. All doubt rests
between khaki slacks and black socks.
His sneaker soles
don't sit the floor but twist
his balls, knock his knees in front
of three hundred hungry
mothers, fathers. The viola girl's
pasted beauty pulls her forward,
leans her secret. There
is no poise like that-- a window
not yet shattered, a rock itching the hand.
Boys parts grow chaotic.
Bones grasp straws: right thigh,
left arm, eyebrow, hair on toes.
Who knows where blood dances next
and how it embarrasses.
His face stretches neolithic.
His voice caves in,
disintegrates
at the first peppermint scent of sex
when halls fill with sugar cane
and blood's iron steam
pulls his breath off-beat.
Despite the body's mutiny
--nothing short of beautiful--
he finds the note.
-Laura E. J. Moran, Live Bait, 2005