The Poster Boy

The Poster Boy is peeling

Off the wall

He’s yet to comb his hair

And while he’s told

It’s a look

It keeps getting

In his eyes

The dust piles up

Around the bedroom

Because now

It’s someone’s old bedroom

Instead of an active bedroom

Which means

There is no bed

Or bureau

But somebody forgot

To take the posters

Down off the wall

The butterscotch spots

Where the taped

Used to hold up

The movie stars

And musicians

Are proof positive

That nothing will stick forever

And the Poster Boy

Knows this

He hears the sound

The other posters make

When they slide

Down to the carpet

Every few weeks

Or months

Somebody comes in

Picks them up
Rips them in half

And throws them in a trash bag

But nobody takes down

The Poster Boy

And there are days

Where he almost wishes

They would

Because he can remember

When there was loud music

And pizza spilling

And Italian homework

And phone calls that went on

Until somebody yelled

That they weren’t made of money

And to free up the line

But summers cooled

And winters waned

And when furniture began

To dust up

And then disappear

The Poster Boy noticed

That nobody was looking at him

And no new posters

Were going up

At one point

You couldn’t even see the walls

So littered they were

With advertisements

For youth and beauty

But youth is dismissed

By the young

While they’re still young

And beauty loses its attraction

Once it passes

Attainability

The Poster Boy waited

Until the house was sold

In favor of a place close enough

To the ocean

In Southern Florida

Before he came down

Off the wall

He didn’t want to be

Torn asunder

And tossed

Into the waste bin

That meant stepping out

Of a flat surface

A photo from 2004

That was shot by a photographer

Who would go on

To become a successful filmmaker

But would eventually

Die in a car crash

Before winning a posthumous Oscar

The Poster Boy left the bedroom

Without a bed

And made his way

Out of the house

That no one was living in

And out onto the street

Late at night, it’s hard to tell

What time it is

Especially on a street

Where nothing’s changed

In thirty years

Some have moved away

Some have stayed

But so many walls are bare

Where there used to be photos

And decoration

And wallpaper

The Poster Boy isn’t sure

What he used to represent

Other than a talent

That is no longer admired

He walks past

Every mailbox on the street

Stopping only once

To see if there
Was any mail

That hadn’t been

Retrieved