'That looks just like a fox being sick'
I stare at the torn-off chunk of bread,
at the hunk of gluten that floured your imagination.
Your delighted smile dangles as you dance off again,
dragging your future behind you.
Cos i've already seen that imagination of yours begin its adult transition.
Imagined slights and planned flights. Life-or-death disco nights.
Life planned and felt and feared and adored as it only can be
by the mind of a twelve year old.
You have so many futures left in that brain of yours.
Careers and fears and loves of your life.
When you reach my age you'll have lived our years multiplied
in fantasy and what-ifs.
We talk of becoming 'more together',
but what if its really just about
being the persons we are?