Crayon ChildYounger Me,More Like This
still fending off nightmares
with plastic swords
and MONSTER-B-GONE lights.
I was rarely gentle with you.
I blistered our hands with blacktop;
I choked our sandals with mulch.
Yet you remained untouched
by life's failures and faults,
only marred on the skin
by two frolic-scars.
There are seven chin stitches
from a monkey bar mishap,
and three on your upper lip
from disgruntled floor tiles.
But that never halted
your gap-toothed grins.
I fought by your side
during alien invasions,
where broccoli trees swayed
beneath the 1% lowfat Milky Way.
We cradled dirt-stained snowmen
that lasted weeks in the freezer,
and attacked Georgia fireflies
with an army of pickle jars.
I cried when we ate mushrooms
(they taste of rubber and disease)
but gorged on knock-knock jokes
(the cheesier, the better).
We scrawled our promises in crayon
because chalk never stayed;
we composed cricket concertos
and moonbeam serenades.
Dear muse... this is farewell,
we have waltzed the years away.
lost my voice.I wrote "I love you"More Like This
in the sand at the beach.
The tide swallowed the words
and drowned them
before I could speak.
Regale me with a tale of adventure!If 32 was 44 then none of this would be a problem, but it's not and I don't knowMore Like This
how to make it that way.
Confusing? Probably, let me start from the beginning and try to make sense of it
all for you.
It all started while crossing a cerulean sky so clear it makes the best of poets
wonder if Heaven is only a couple thousand feet above us.
We traveled by skyship in search of ivory smoke. Our vessel looked as much like
the pirate ships of old as any one persons imagination can infer.
Anyway, lets not get lost in the details shall we.
One especially vivid voyage brought us to the edge of the known world. A place
forbidden to all of sky, land, or water.
At the precipice we spotted a castle made of entirely of what we sought. Ivory
smoke as pure as any haul we'd ever heard of in the tales that permeate our close
knit Smoke Hunter communities.
Speaking of which, we're called Smoke Hunters, or Smokies for short. I'm Smokey
77 to be more to the point.
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