There is no sadness to speak of.
No bullshit spiel about little red wagons stolen in alleyways.

No mention of that ancient babysitter with the hole in her back calling
"SPIDERMAN!! SPIDERMAN!!", as she leaned out the 2nd story window.
you cowering in the corner trying your best not to piss your pants.

You held your hands out and acted as though they were rides at a carnival.
Those around you sat on them and pretended to ride.
There was no admission.
There was only nap time
and the smell of fresh wood thrown together
to house the lot of you still teaming
with the world that was yet to come.

You would kick, pinch and scream at the hand off.


Ray Strickland jr.

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