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Thanks for the compliments @anne-of-lothlorien !

And yes, it is in reference to “To Kill a Mockingbird.” Here it is. Hope you enjoy it (and that the forum formatting doesn’t mangle it too badly)!

Boo Radley

By Cainon Leeds

Some of my poems have adjusted well.
They can tie their own shoes and walk out the door
and down the streets of Maycomb
or some other American small town.

Some can even hold conversations
with strangers: speaking their minds when spoken to,
maintaining eye contact, and not once looking back
to me to coach them through.

They have gone on
to grace the pages of magazines and journals,
to baptize themselves into the church of publication
and receive praise and worship with each spring or fall issue.

But I have other poems
that have not left the “Work in Progress” folder house
in years. I don’t pass through the neighborhood often,
but when I do, I see my imagination playing with my memory
on an open front porch,
making up stories about why
my other poems stay pent up in there,

and how one poem got its hands on a pair of scissors,
cut out magazine photos of Boston in autumn,
and when I stepped into the room and looked down
at what it was working on,
it casually stabbed me in the shin
and then went back to cutting,

splattering blood on the leaves, the trees,
the old New England houses
and cobblestone streets.
It’s been locked up ever since.

And in that time, they’ve grown
pale, sensitive to lights, overly suspicious,
but mostly lonely.

Every now and then, they’ll leave a stick of gum
or a marble in the knot of the oak tree
just outside the house
in an attempt to befriend my imagination,

help it remember
that my children still live there,
still cry themselves to sleep at night.