Little boy comes in with a balloon tied around his finger,
Releasing it to only graze across the ceiling
Wishing it could reach beyond.
He slinks away to his room with his shoes untied,
Tripping and skinning his knees
Dragging them, but still trekking.
He’s an explorer, breaking the barriers of his bedroom
Tutting along in his Egyptian gold;
Dancing in a kilt made only for the masculine;
Beating a drum without his shirt on,
And bowing his head to his hands after the finale.
He flies in an airplane over his bed
Lost in a world of sheets and loose threads.
He floats in the cover with a sail blown
And races to reach the edge of the world.
Which does he do?
Or take a running start over the edge
As an adult hand rests one hand on the boy’s shoulder,
The other in a firm salute across his head.
Father is back,
His boots carry mud from an adventure
The boy could only ever dream of.