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.
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