The Boy Who Would Leap

He’s somewhere
between
thirty and forty.

Perhaps fifty.
Maybe sixty.

He wants to play.

Without prescription.

He wants to stamp.

And to stomp.

And to run.

And to leap
from chair
to chair.

He wants to shout.

And to scream words
he just made up.
At the top
of his voice.

And not to look
at who’s looking.

He wants to tell
his best friend
it’s OK to
make believe.

And to tell
his parents
that he
loves them.

Perhaps he will.

Tomorrow.