18 April 2009

p.a.d. * day eleven

Toy Soldier

Pulling back the
covers I am greeted by
some dark thing in the sheets
and put my face close to
see my son’s
steadfast toy soldier.

What he
lacks in
size he makes
up for in
and spirit.

I am ignorant on
all but the crudest points of
maneuver and
attrition warfare
but I wonder if this
toy soldier is disturbing more
than my sleep. Perhaps he’s
wearing me down slowly: pushing
the checkbook just a little each
day until it falls behind
the computer desk, whispering
that annoying song in
my ear so I forget why
I walked into the bathroom and
opened the medicine cabinet, knocking
the vase of white carnations off
the kitchen table just as
I lie down with a
good book.

I want to toss
him aside and go
to sleep but the
toy soldier raises his
battle axe and I can
see he’s
resolved himself.

He does not
want me to
to roll over and
turn out the
light, he needs this
like I need

Half his army is
lost, the rest
retreated, this
is his last ditch
attempt to dislodge
me from this bed or
die trying.

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