The Red Wagon

When I was a 6 or 7 old boy, my mother bought me a red wagon. I loved this wagon. I would pulled my friends in it. I imaged I was a bus driver. My friends would line up at designated street corners, and I would pick them up. Too many kids would want to join in on the fun, and I was too stupid to say no. I would pulled when my red wagon, was stuffed with fat and little ones. I would get tired but I never turned any children away. I loved making the other kids happy. I still do that today but with reservations. I want to make my friends and family happy, I wish I could take theirs and my own problems away, and that we can pile up in some red plane or red boat or a red car and forget about it all. But, none of us are children anymore and my red wagon is too over wrought to even carry me.