他穿著松垮的褲子和肥大的襯衫
帶著耳機一路哼唱著百老匯的歌#65377;
時不時地他回頭看我一眼,
隔著穿行的車流,一個中年的父親在向他招手#65377;
他是一個十五歲的城市男孩——不大,也不小——
但我想象他是一只五顏六色的無名小鳥
百轉千回的歌聲一會兒像麻雀一會兒像知更鳥
歌聲劃過,可以讓每個角落的商販聽到
我一直認為他是一只野生的雛鳥
在飛過樹頂的高空中
警惕地翹起一只翅膀
回頭凝望我#65377;
He is wearing baggy shorts and a loud T-shirt
and singing along to his headset on Broadway.
Every now and then he glances back at me,
a middle-aged father weaving through traffic behind him.
He is a fifteen-year-old in the city—no more, no less—
but I imagine him as a colorful unnamed bird
warbling his difference from the robins and sparrows
and scissoring past the venders on every corner.
I keep thinking of him as a wild fledgling
who tilts precariously on one wing
and peers back at me from the sudden height
before sailing out over the treetops.