Playroom – by Edmund Miller
I don’t really know that I want it
but boy do I like to play at it.
Dawdling in the sunsheets
for everyone to see
I’m inwardly sailing to toychests
and thumping my little tin drum
awaiting a hard-core red wagon.
So every other day at least
I get out the coloring book
to page with my past.
And of course my crimson crayon
never strays outside the lines.