@styles 23 December 2020

Little Boy

I lounge there next to a young boy, maybe 5 or 6. The wheels of the train rolling under us. He looks out that dirty window. Tries to wipe away the dirt, with the sleeve of his shirt. Gazing out that filthy glass, at the pines  lining a gray sky. Swallowing mud and  verdant needles. Lithe deer and cawing crows. He sits back down, murmuring under his breath. "They were wrong." There was truth to that.