This poem was based on some young boys I saw playing by the roads our tour bus was taking in Vietnam.

My Concerns

I do not know that
you are watching me play,
or rather,
I should say,
I do not care.
What I care for
is how the mud
squishes between my toes and my toe nails
as I play soccer with my friends,
how I must be careful
to not hit the clothes on the wires,
to not hit the passing motorbikes,
to not be hit by the ball
and dirty my clothes that
my mom will scold me for,
to not have my slightly flat
red, rubber ball, fall into the small lake,
and have to get it before it gets too deep
by the holy lotus flowers.
I do not know that you pity
my bare feet,
my slightly flat rubber ball,
my hand me down clothes,
or rather,
I should say,
I do not care.