[Lyric] It Allows a Portrait in Line-Scan at Fifteen (Les Murray)

He retains a slight "Martian" accent, from the years of single phrases
He no longer hugs to disarm. It is gradually allowing him affection
It does not allow proportion. Distress is absolute, shrieking, and runs him at frantic speed through crashing doors
He likes cyborgs. Their taciturn power, with his intonation
It still runs him around the house, alone in the dark, cooing and laughing
He can read about soils, populations, and New Zealand. On neutral topics he's illiterate
Arnie Schwarzenegger is an actor. He isn't a cyborg really, is he Dad?
He lives on forty acres, with animals and trees, and used to draw it continually
He knows thе map of Earth's fertile soils, and can draw it freehand
He can only liе in a panicked shout SorrySorryIdidn'tdoit! warding off conflict with others and himself
When he ran away it was to the greengrocers to worship stacked fruit
His favorite country was the Ukraine: it is nearly all deep fertile soil
Giggling, he climbed all over the dim Freudian psychiatrist who told us how autism resulted from "refrigerator" parents
When asked to smile, he photographs a rictus-smile on his face
It long forbade all naturalistic films. They were Adult movies
If they (that is, he) are bad the police will put them in hospital
He sometimes drew the farm amid Chinese or Balinese rice terraces
When a runaway, he made uproar in the police station, playing at three times adult speed
Only animated films were proper. Who Framed Roger Rabbit then authorized the rest
Phrases spoken to him he would take as teaching, and repeat
A one-word first conversation: Blane! - Yes! Plane, that's right baby! - Blane!
He has forgotten nothing, and remembers the precise quality of experiences
It requires rulings: Is stealing very playing up, as bad as murder?
He counts at a glance, not looking. And he has never been lost
When he ate only nuts and dried fruit, words were for dire emergencies
He knows all the breeds of fowls, and the counties of Ireland
He'd begun to talk, then returned to babble, then silence. It withdrew speech for years
Is that very autistic, to play video games during the day?
He is anger's mirror, and magnifies any near him, raging it down
It still won't allow him fresh fruit, or orange juice with bits in it
He swam in the midwinter dam at night. It had no rules about cold
He was terrified of thunder and finally cried as if in explanation It - angry!
He grilled an egg he'd broken into bread. Exchanges of soil-knowledge are called landtalking
He lives in objectivity. I was sure Bell's palsy would leave my face only when he said it had begun to
Don't say word! when he was eight forbade the word "autistic" in his presence
Bantering questions about girlfriends cause a terrified look and blocked ears
He sometimes centred the farm in a furrowed American Midwest
Eye contact, Mum! means he truly wants attention. It dislikes I contact
He is equitable and kind, and only ever a little jealous. It was relief when that little arrived
He surfs, bowls, walks for miles. For many years he hasn't trailed his left arm while running
I gotta get smart! looking terrified into the years. I gotta get smart!