Walking, hand in hand, through the tall grasses, beneath clear blue sky so fresh and soft with a dollop of muggy fun where the bees buzz the grasshopper thwack the dragonflies purr and you and laugh.
Ah the lives we’ve had!
The tiger circles his tail.
The flamingo folds down like a jackknife standing on one leg in the artificial pond.
A penguin fluffs and shakes with, opening and tucking back her little razorblade wings, stunning in her black tux.
I bought the tickets. You ate the popcorn. No one said a thing.
These days, as ominous gray storm clouds come to roost all around our castle, I squeeze your hand and you look up, slouch your shoulders a little backward, pout your lips a little forward. I guess you should’ve been a rock star with moody creative outbursts and loyal fans, but you spent your youth picking daffodils by the pond’s edge, with that grumpy old swan sailing suspiciously and superciliously by, curling his black flippers in the tepid water.
Who’s to blame for the stolen decades?
We’ll start a planetarium and offer free lectures every Thursday. We’ll build a forge and turn disadvantaged youths into master blacksmiths. We’ll forage the oceans, removing all plastic bottles, aluminum cans, and even suck up the chemical spills. We’ll make something out of this yet!