As A Child

As a child
he whispered his prayers
to a majestic, empty room
every sunny morning.
Perhaps pretending that God listened
lessened the evil feelings
welling up inside his soul.
He liked pretending the best.

Then, at noon,
he painted pictures
without a brush,
swiping red white and blue
all over the walls -
seeing them as
America.
He liked the color red the best.

Then at playtime
he brought to life
plastic soldiers,
longing for the day when
he could call literal shots
to kill literal soldiers.
And he smiled.
He liked the battle tanks the best.

When naptime arrived
he swam in nightmares
thinking them beautiful dreams.
He was a tyrant
destroying all lands.
With a flick of his hand,
he made towers crumble.
He liked that part the best.

When dinner was served
he ate meat loaf
and drowned his corn in mashed potatoes.
All the silverware was gold, of course,
such as it is for kings.
His daddy would then tell stories -
of peasants, of wars, of princes.
He liked the wars the best.

Then, as the owls hooted
from deep in the Texas forests
he put on his American flag pajamas
and climbed into his presidential bed
to cuddle with his Teddy Bear.
What a great day it had been!
But when he was the ruler, those days
would be so much better.


~J.V.Harker~
~29 January 2009~