The boy without parents

There was a boy who lived
across the street,
and I never saw his parents.
Ever.
In retrospect,
it was weird because
he looked fine,
just like the rest of us,
but he did
always act
just
the teensiest bit off.

And it's the kind of "off"
nobody places a finger on, either.
Then one day- no,
one year
we're placed in the same class.
And I see nobody wants to play with him.
So I go invite him to play, but he says no,
he doesn't play. Play is not important,
he says. Work is. Like his newspaper route
or odd jobs-
cleaning the windows,
mowing lawns,
sweeping streets, that stuff.

Life is too short to play, he insists,
and so, with that I leave him alone.

A few years later, I see him again.
He's different- almost unrecognizable,
but he still lives in that same house
on that same street where I used to live.
And he's still walking alone,
without parents.

Do they exist? Or is he living alone?
You never really know, do you?

34 lines 178 words
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