run while you can

Too young to be bashful.

Boy with intention. Icheon, South Korea. Spring 2011.

Mom’s motioning hand,
elbow, an obtuse angle:
Shoo! She shushed.

My mind, unmanned,
my feet, a fandango:
Race! I rushed.

A spotlight squinted
at a bridge, water below,
a trickle, what I need.

‘Flow,’ flushing water hinted.
Lip-reading, mom said, ‘go.’
Panting, pants down, I peed.

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