Crayons

I’m not certain when it happens. When the high fidelity stereo of a youthful past Drowns in the monophonic static of tomorrow’s responsibilities. When cowboys and indians or cops and robbers Become traffic tickets and the politically correct, Native Americans. When the king of the castle ends up under a mortgage and tax escrow Owned by bank and government alike for standing strong on a playground boulder. When the real fear of catching cooties from the girls at recess Gives way to the real fear of catching cooties from girls in your bedroom. But it invariably does. You wake up and notice something interesting about mirrors. Your reflection isn’t there anymore. That person doesn’t know that fruity pebbles taste better than bran flakes. That pens and pencils are made for drawing, not writing checks. And crayons are better still. That person has forgotten that mornings are to be celebrated And bedtime is another way of spelling tantrum time. That person is a grown up. And certainly, that person isn’t you. Are they? 04/24/15