The memory is likely askew
to children bathed in blue.
The lather of bubble bath shampoo.
A time when hearts were lighter.
The worst worry was losing toys
to an infinite void.
A shouting match over
broken small soldiers
who made their way
into father’s feet.
Sorry Dad,
I just had
to be on the right side of scrutiny
in manufactured battles
which rattle the brain:
And the puddles, and the rain
of tears were not in vain.
The boy just didn’t know
how dangerous
a toy soldier could be.
He’ll never leave a toy
on the floor
or experience the joy
of battles well won.
On occasion he might
just relive the plight
of Dad being heard
amongst the herd
of flying bees.
He won’t get stung
but he’ll shout
as if the entire hive
had him cornered
and he couldn’t forest
for dear life.
