Being A Boy

When I played at being a boy- It was so long ago I forget- I looked towards the lights And the back room was so small. A lonely piano, seldom played. A tiny radio to keep me company- To keep me in touch. I knew Britain and I knew Michigan, Though I never been there… I lived in California but breathed The icy air of the Shire. I tasted the air of planets unfound. Watched the eyes of paintings Tracing my every move At the long-gone house on Hershey Avenue. Hot- cold fevers and prickly hands- One gray day without legs Halloween in a devil’s costume. Those were ‘the days’. Those were my days and they seem unreal. Someone knows they happened But no one else knows for sure. I can’t even say they ever really happened. When I played at being a boy- I will never forget that I knew The future was going to be where I landed.