TOY MARINES

I miss the simpler times,
when things didn't weigh,
and we could play until mom
called us from the window,
when it was dinnertime,

scrapes and bruises came
with us, and parents
made a fuss about stains
on shirts and holes in jeans,

how we hated our greens
sitting on our dinner plates,
we, half asleep, half awake,
and toy marines making it
to the table,

and then there was
t.v. time and the fables
we would tell, bright and
alive like colored pastels
before a bath and pajamas,

the Mama's and the Papa's
playing low on the clock radio,
dad with a beer in his hand,
and a working man's tan,

and how mom left us in bed
cozy and warm, through
winter winds and thunderstorms,
the glowing stars on my wall,

and how I always held my baseball,
before the sandman called.

© 2018 Rene Velez