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Flight of the Firstborn He streaks past his sixteenth year, small island life stretched tight across his shoulders his strides rehearsing city blocks college brochures airline schedules stream excitedly through his newly competent hands his goodbyes blurred like neon on a morning suddenly gone wet I'm left stranded on a tiny patch of time still reaching to wipe the cereal from his smile. from The Oxford Book of Caribbean Verse, ed Brown and McWatt, OUP, 2005