Poem: My Kid

My inner kid needs play time and this poem is all about that.

My Kid The alarm went off at eight     as it is set to do,     an easier chore for alarms     than for those who rise to them And I rolled over,     unwilling to let go of the pillow,     not because of being up too late     or some other reasonable excuse,     but for reasons I had to reach for Scratching through what is me,     as well as what used to be me     and what once was me,     that came to lay itself in my bed     and use my name A long way to go     and I wasn’t but halfway there These debates with the me that is     and the me that used to be     are sometimes and mostly one-sided Too much good guy over bad guy     hard guy against easy guy     and I hear my father’s voice What’re you gonna do     sleep your damn fool life away?     and he’s right, but the kid inside doesn’t want to work today My kid has been trying to tell me for a month     that he doesn’t want to write,     but I’ve not listened to my younger self,     as my father taught me not to My kid wants to go outside and play,     walking the dog on long rambling tours     of parks and ponds we haven’t seen Impatient with abbreviated runs,     Generally shop-lifted from my day What’s the point of a dog, if not for loving     and helping to search out secrets My kid needs to cut and paste     and build some imagery     of motorcycles, vintage cars     bi-planes, tree-houses, big boats,     Roman walls and naked women To fill his kid-mind with exhibitions,     wandering streets that for too long     were just the route to somewhere My kid hears voices     calling him to play     and the turning in my bed     is an answer, if I hear it There’s work to be done,     but not until my kid is breathless,     ruddy-cheeked and ready

This poem is included in Jim Freeman's poetry collection THE SMELL OF TWEED AND TOBACCO available here in print or as an e-Book in your favorite formats.