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Bobby Seratto By Nathaniel Goldberg Copyright 2000 Nathaniel Goldberg

A poem about the writer's childhood friend.

When I was five we lived in Pelham Manor. Bobby, my best friend tore his sister's doll apart to see if it would bleed. When he found no blood, he set it afire. I saw him out back in the lot around the corner. Bobby loved fire. His eyes would widen and his breathing quickened. When his sister found her favorite doll destroyed she kicked him. He still has the scar below his left eye. And so our dreams splayed out before us like gutted fish. We sneaked into a neighbor's swimming pool one August night. We swam in the dark until lights came on in the house. Bobby started to laugh, then dove under and disappeared. I got out of the pool alone and ran. Bobby never got caught.