Wednesday, September 25, 2013

Spiderman Lunchbox


We saw him on our morning walk
a small boy 
tethered, just barely
hand in mother’s hand
on their way to the school 
next to the park.

He looked at Jack The Dog with wonderment
and looked at me briefly
to see what type of person 
walks a great beast in the park.
He smiled as we distracted his focus a few times
but moving always forward
he could barely contain his excitement
as he drew near his destination.

And I tried to remember 
what it felt like
to have so much excitement 
buzzing around inside you
that it made you skip
while Mom escorted you to that magical room
that smelled of paste and disinfectant
where your best friends in the whole-wide-world 
would be there waiting for you, excited on your arrival,
bursting to ask you great questions 
and compare stories of
what you saw on TV last night
as we waited for those sessions
out on the hungry concrete 
that ate skin from girl’s knees and boy’s elbows
while we we ran and screamed with abandon
to the sound of playing on clanking metals bars
and hoped to be picked 
for the greatest kickball game
15 minutes would allow.

And I wondered
what was in his Spiderman lunchbox.

Is it still a peanut butter and jelly sandwich (no crust),
lots of wee-size snacks
not made for kids but for tired moms,
and a small box of something 
trying to pass itself off as real juice (100% natural!),
or did his lunch box come with a matching thermos
that now holds the eternal smell of spoiled milk?

And when opening his lunch 
and seeing slices of apple or celery (good for trading with a girl)
instead of those mini-cupcakes,
is this what will teach him 
his first lessons in repeated disappointment 
in the name of "It's good for you"..?

So,
what would it take 
to get you to skip to work tomorrow
in appreciation of the possibilities 
of another beautiful day?
Once upon a time
it was as simple as the anticipation 
of what's in your Spiderman lunchbox.




Ken Owen   Van Niddy Press   September 2013

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