It’s Never, Neverland

What Would Peter Do?

Sometimes, late at night,
I lie awake listening
to the tick, tick, tick
of my alarm clock
and again
I am a lost boy

but neverlands
are traded for
a nine to five

as I reach in my pocket
for change to pay the toll,
the sound reminds me
of a pocket full
of cat’s eyes

the conference table,
nothing more than
a circle drawn
in the dirt

when the whistle sounds
at day’s end, I grab
my tin full of marbles,
run down to my chariot
and ride the wings
of the wind

Home

Sometimes, late at night,
when I lie awake listening
to the tick, tick, tick
of my alarm clock

I wonder…

What Would Peter Do?