Totem

By R. L. Swihart
The young man says, “Alan can 
do anything he wants”

“Not fly,” I say

The young man returns 
a puzzled look

*

Alan has already crushed 
the milk carton
with his heel

*

In a quiet garden, far from here and in a world
built with sentences from a good book,
Alan has left the runway and grazed
a pantleg on the garden wall