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