He sits atop the high slide,
one battered matchbox car
in his hand. His knees, chubby
and scabbed, stick out at
awkward angles as he runs
the wheels of the toy over
each bump and twist of metal
in the grate supporting him.
His face a psychedelic concoction
of macaroni, chocolate, nosebleed
and electric blue,
blue,
blue eyes. They sparkle and
widen as he launches the
small vehicle down the slide,
he whoops like a neverland imp,
follows headfirst into the sand
and gathers himself in a crinkle
of diapers and motley stains.
Two hands to the sky, he throws
his head back and cheers with
an elation so primal the entire
playground nearly blinks from
existence, nearly collapses from joy.
I'm transported. Perfect!
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