your only man

Post N° 52

This summer breeze has left me with no turf to bring into the house.

After I’ve washed the dishes I am stunned at the image of us

watching telly, looking at each other, at times, from couch to sofa.

You point at things happening on the same Barney show we’ve already

watched many times in a single day, trying to letting me into the story or the song.

They all are happy and smiling at the best feelings they present us with,

and at all those beautiful things, the happy life, the kisses, the hugs,

the jumping, the singing, your face is glued to.

I too go dreaming about the possible happy life in a non-defined future.

When it’s time for your lunch all my happiness

is your hand to hold to walk you in the kitchen, lifting you up

to your high chair, fasting your belts, putting your tray on.

Future happiness is the fork turning into a train or a helicopter

straight as a sun ray into your mouth.

You quickly chew and – sometimes – you ask for more.