To The Lake Running

Fabrice Poussin


The scream persists endlessly, carried on a wave infinite;

Little legs run, run little legs, you must escape,

pursued by the giant lips, his eyes bulge ready to explode;

Little boy runs, and he wonders why?


His heart shrinks, as if caught in soiled saran wrap,

thrown at him by a vengeful hand but why?

Little man runs… please run little man… do it for me;

the knot is tighter, in his soul, with a sinking hope.

The look in those eyes, hate, anger, murderous gaze;

Little boy, cry… cry little boy… you know why!

You forgot to forget, you too deserved a bit of living;

the shame is yours, you should have known better.


Little Legs hurt… hurt little legs… that is why!

Alone, deal, do as you will, at seven, be a man now!

To the lake muddy, deep, full of your eternal sorrow,

swim Little man, little man swim if you must, if you can.

Why… why… why? The distorted beauty of her,

the love temporary, gone, or perhaps to the tomb yet;

the colossus could have been human, it runs faster;

love Little boy… little boy love… that is why.


The mouth gaping, hungry to swallow what it once made;

image of a Hades dark, deep, cold, full of many deaths.

Little shorts, little shirt, little man, what did you do so?

Why… why… why… for, who else could it be?

Little boy into the waters… swim Little boy, little boy swim!

It is safe now… the monster fears the waves.

Smile my buddy, my friend, my pal… together happy.

Little man... my dear friend… if only you could swim…

Fabrice Poussin teaches English at Shorter University. Author of novels and poetry, his work has appeared in Kestrel, Symposium, The Chimes, and dozens of other magazines. His photography has been published in The Front Porch Review, the San Pedro River Review and more than 200 other publications.