A Golden Reputation

Pitter Patter

His feet go as they trickle through the slobbery basement

Violently sweating in the storm of bodies and blinking lights

Searching for a blue-eyed reason to stay in the rumbling house.

Pitter Patter

Goes the spillage on the floor from the half-drunk stale beer

While on his way to purposely bump into a gush of blonde hair

And fill the obligation he thinks he has.

Pitter Patter

Are the sounds of his lips smacking against each other

As he presses out warm-hearted words, hoping to make an impression

That will fit his golden reputation.

Pitter Patter

Go his shoes as he stumbles into his freshly cleaned room

With a new and unfamiliar pretty face next to him

But he uncomfortably sleeps on the sliver of the bed closest to the wall.

Pitter Patter

Go the morning droplets of rain that whistle on the window

Reminiscent of the waves of the salty sea

Where his family rests

And where he’d rather be.