A boy, maybe 5, dancing
in the candy aisle of a megastore
at 6 a.m., a month before Halloween
is overjoyed by the harvest
on every shelf, his caramel skin
aglow, his hair a perfect 'fro,
his black t-shirt and black jeans
the right outfit for his performance.
And although he has the moves
he’s more a cub scout than
another Michael Jackson.
He has the aisle to himself
except for me and my cart
at one end and a clerk
with a box at the other
both of us stunned to see
a boy with no arms dancing
in the candy aisle till mother
comes and scoops him up,
plops him in her empty cart.
Both laugh and disappear.
Donal Mahoney