His Thirteenth Year in Chicago

He stuffed Red Bull cans
in his coat, and ran out to
the quiet gas pumps

where the boy sped past
glowing neon-lit signs, back
to the cement streets.

Wild and red haired he
spent his days and nights quickly
sneaking out of stores,

past the bat-like men
standing behind registers,
their radar flaring,

but blind and still, calm
in their dark caves, as the fall’s
wind rushed through their doors.

The sky had been gray
for days, for weeks. All autumn
had been radiant.