Arnold Still Waits
The boy in Venezuela, wiser than his years, learning to draw from the twisted skulls of his father’s tattoo parlor. His hope burns bright blue. Shacked up inside, safe from his peers smashing Buenos Aires. Shattered- his family strewn across two Americas. He waits for the day he’s learned enough to come to the States and say “Adios Presidente” He floods the chatroom, his lofty goals almost seem attainable with his optimism. No task is too large until he starts creating, struggling under the weight of his own ambition like an ant who took a leaf intended for a bigger bug. And though we may never meet; I will carry that dream, in part because he’s too naïve to see he needs help. I want to blow that leaf and its little pilot across the ocean to a place big enough for his dreams.