the wax paper


Dad and I would spend hours
on benches in parks. 

Like bums chasing quarters,
we’d mumble to ourselves 

in hopes of parsing words to
hit some meaningful results. 

But the lookers-on continued
digging into empty pockets to

indulge this disjointed display
while we too continued to fumble

for sounds to come correctly, 
just a solitary phoneme
to entail some departure from the bench.

Michael Lacy is a Creative Writing and Descriptive Linguistics at Central Connecticut State University