He sits on a park bench

backpack on, feet

dangling

as if he's waiting

for a roller coaster to take off.

The sign says

"you must be this tall to ride"

He ignores it--

Nights have become stagnant, 

routine, 

and the promises 

of no bedtime

and ice cream for dinner 

have his mouth watering like never before.

Suddenly, his head is glued 

to the back of his seat.

His left shoe

with the chewed up laces

flies off as he's whisked

away. 

He looks down--

relationships

student loans

rent payments

car payments

mortgages 

gray hair

no hair

senior discounts

assisted living.

He comes to a screeching 

halt, collects himself, 

picks up his left shoe

with the chewed up laces, grabs his lunchbox

and meanders

back over to the playground

for fifteen more minutes

until his mom picks him up.