When Small was Big and Trivial was Kept in a Box

I miss my army of little plastic green soldiers
that won so many wars against the dreaded red ants
and wish I had that convoy of trucks and cars
mapped out into a web of roads in my boyhood backyard.

I remember teasing Mary Lou’s pigtails
As she sat in front of me in the fifth grade.

I long for those moments, that seemed endless,
Back in the mid sixties waiting the Beatles next 45.

I yearn for the power and stamina to run forever
Without anything but the morning air to know my thoughts.

I can still hear the giggle of my daughter’s play
And how she always wondered “Why” this or that -
And, I had an answer that she could live with - for the moment.

The distinct sound of coins falling though the bus collection box
And feeling the bus move forward as if responding to my coins.

The smell of rain when the desert was young with a new day
And possibilities were yet to be on anyone’s list.

And I long for the time when surprises were adventures
Where any next turn might be nothing less than amazing.