Golden Boy, a poem by Ian Fletcher at Spillwords.com
Marten Bjork

Golden Boy

Golden Boy

written by: Ian Fletcher

 

I would return in pomp for the weekend
back from a conference in Brussels.
Mum would get my suit dry-cleaned
and dad would book a peak-time table
at the local five-star restaurant to show off
the son that was a somebody.

I return from a teaching stint
at an obscure language school in Spain
for my unpaid July and August vacation.
Mum notices the holes in my shoes
and takes me to the city center
to anonymously buy a new pair
while dad hands me a wad of cash
to help ‘tide you over the summer’
surmising it will be spent on booze.

How shall I be judged
as I stand before them
having conjured up
their imaginary ghosts
not the son they wanted
but the one I have become?

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