A Pillowcase Backpack

A pillowcase backpack, camping under the kitchen table. Lost in imagination, deaf to strife. In every way full of wonder of life. Holed up in a couch cushion bunker. Barefoot and bare chested. Taking aim to fire a one-eyed shot. Make believe enemies threaten an onslaught. Built a kingdom of cardboard With a window cut by a kitchen knife. A quarter inch of corrugated paper, Captured imagination now vanished like water vapor. The boy inside still resides though the memory needs prodding. Make believe turned to believing in what he makes. Construction in cardboard again he undertakes. This time with less charm and laughter. Replacing pure gold with iron pyrite. Like replacing the sun with a porch light. One is fueled by timeless truth Penetrating the darkness of space. A flash of this lightning epistle Descending on earth like a heaven sent missile. The other a cheap motel incandescent, Off-white, almost yellow. With tiny circling friends that drone on. And only if someone left the light on. Retreating back to a cardboard box. Smells and feels familiar. The box seems smaller or am I older? Don’t care. I’m with a heaven sent soldier. Now this box is as grand as the first. With the same laughter and bright eyes peeking around the corner. Making believe is reborn in the eyes of another. When have you last seen the underside of a kitchen table? Or crawled through a paper tunnel? To peep with a grin when you reach the end. When?