My Boys

My Boys



The long, black, arrowed hands
of the clock ticked backward,
the man in the moon opted to go back to bed
and the sun hung red on the horizon, caught
in the decision to sink or swim
into the evening-- and the day stretched
out its hands grasping at
the still bare branches of the birch trees,
scarlet fingers clinging even as the little man
pulled at Great--grampa's hand
pleading to stay out and play
just a little bit longer.

Bathtime loomed, then passed because
my boys were playing some version
of catch where one throws,
the other misses with glee
and the thrower retrieves the ball
to try again. Giggles and chortles
accompany the barking of the dog
who also enjoys this game of miss.
Bathwater can always be warmed up,
and this is one of those times
that scurry by and you don't
always get a second chance.

Damp little boy, smelling of
vanilla and gardenia scented bubbles--
he helped me add it to rewarmed water.
There wasn't all that much left anyway.
Damp old man, smelling of
vanilla and clove soap
wrapped in his tattered and comfy
blue bathrobe brings me little man's
tattered and comfy blue blanket.
Kissed and snuggled, sweet-dreamed
and love you-ed, both my boys
are off to bed because in the morning,
time will reset, the alarm will go off at four
and the re-energized duo
will start another day.






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