I am overwhelmed
by flightless days
and countless ways
that Sundays and Saturdays
turn to dust.

The good news

On the road to Orlando
visiting the Magic Kingdom.
Tan leather riding,
backseat with the toys -
unscorched muscle men,
garbage pail kids and noise.

Broken homes? Cry me a river,
starving children dreaming strong.
But some of us
(the pathetic many)
are trapped forever aged thirteen,
while father walks.

But we'll soon have
episodes of Seinfeld,
Thursday night spaghetti and
loads of splintered love.
You're too old
to scuttle beneath the covers,
too old to remember
straw blond hair
and baseball bats.

Words fall, dead bark peels from trees
leaving faded pages and empty quills.