As I'm putting your laundry away
I stop to look around your room.
The hundreds of Hotwheels
parked, as they should be, in their crate.
I can still see you lying on your belly
on the kitchen floor making the best
sound affects ever created by an amateur.
I can't help chuckling to myself
as I sit on your bed
and look at the things you treasure.
Your dads army jacket
proudly on display on your wall
next to the American flag.
Your many necklaces
(only ''cool'' ones)
that could never be mistaken
for a girls.
Then I walk over to your display cabinet.
Your most prized possessions.
I peek in careful not to disturb
the almost museum style set-up you have.
I see your baseball trophies
all surrounding your first (but not last)
Your unopened packages of Hotwheels
(each representing something I am clueless of) .
Your slingshot and bb guns.
Just as a sadness of your lost youth
starts to wash over me
with the thought of how responsibly
you've arranged all this,
I see a picture of Napoleon Dynomite
smiling back at me
as if to say
''Gosh! Get out of my room! Geez! ''
Even though you may be somewhere
between a man and a little boy...
I still know where to find you.