May 2005 / Volume Six / Issue Three
Greg Scharf
Mean Little Bastard

My parents couldn’t understand
how a kid who cried
when the car windshield
smashed through
a swarm of butterflies
could also get into fights
with just about every boy
in his fifth grade

But it was very simple:
I knew, even
at that young age,
that you’ll find more humanity
in the dust
off a butterfly’s wings
than you'll find in most humans.

Not that it would’ve mattered
had they known,
because I tell them this now
and they still
don’t understand.
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