For Martin

When I was 8

And far away
Approaching my Communion Day
I’d rush to get my homework done
Then run outside to have some fun
The screen door crashed, I’d yell, “Good-bye.”
My mom didn’t even turn an eye
She’d call out after I was gone,
“Come home when the street lights come on.”

If there was time before the dark

I’d take my bike to Crocheron Park
Where swings and slides and monkey bars
Became my rocket ship to Mars
With Bruce and Ray and Jim and Bill
We’d race our bikes down Crocheron Hill

It was a rush

And quite a thrill
I wish that kids could do that still

For in the world that we’ve devised

No kids can play unsupervised
No one is safe from shrill alarms
Not even in their mothers’ arms
 
I saw the pictures of the boy
Another parent’s pride and joy
That toothless smile was quite a beaut
And proud in his Communion suit
How does he fit into the plan
This little Boston Bruins fan?
A sweet boy as those pictures show you
Martin, we’ll never get to know you

My son is 18, he’s not 8

The world I give him is not great
This prayer I pray with every letter
May his generation

Make it better.