Boxes

Now it is clear that he is
the object of his anger.
Never quite good enough
for attention or praise
from others or himself.
Enclosed in a small box
he peers through a tiny hole
at all that is marvelous
in the world, knowing he will
never be enough. Just beyond
what he can see, carefully
placed, are rows upon rows
of boxes whose captives stand
bewildered by the winter sky.

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