Children with his steel wool hair,
Jumping in autumn leaves
While he shakes his head, bemused.
He was born too soon.
Before they opened the gates at Bellvue,
letting the bats out of the belfry.
Country bumpkin doctors prescribed
Before balances were invented
to check his madness.
Whispers of “We didn’t know.”
Does little to return his youth.
Sits on porches,
Teeth in a jar beside him.
Listening to the wind blowing,
Trying not to hear their words.
Hi, welcome to Day 3, of OctPoWriMo. Today’s prompt was sweetness, and I’m sure you can see I totally deviated from it. I had another story to tell today.