Rory

Rory

 

Every red head boy I see reminds me of Rory

The child on West 30th between Fifth and Madison
Standing with his parents was eerily familiar
A kind, kind face and red hair, tousled
I stared and stared again
I’m sure his parents
Thought me strange
They were visiting New York and
A stranger was staring at their son
Outside their hotel.

The boy in the swimming pool last summer
who was him from behind, definitely
Same tall stature, white skin, red head
And in the water too, he looked so like him
Then he turned around.

Sad moments when I glimpse him
And wonder what might have been
No, what should have been.

Death gathered up our Rory and swept him away
But I see him every day.

– Niall O’Dowd