The bungalow smells heavy of chest rub,
instant chicken noodle soup
I lay drowsy in the distant
clattering sounds of mommy
scrubbing breakfast plates,
the quiet peace of daddy
thankfully gone until six
No Benedictine nuns to scold me,
slap my opened palms
with twelve inch rulers
calling my curiosity sinful
A safe morning in flannel pajamas,
comfy blanket on my chest and legs,
I browse picture books of knights,
witches, ogres and talking animals
Buffalo Bob, Mayor Phineas T. Bluster,
Dilly Dally and Flub-a-Dub
jostle side by side in beaming faces
on the fuzzy screen next to
a freckled red-headed dummy
with an insane wooden grin
Still in the dark about hydrogen bombs,
no missile crisis, no Vietnam conflict,
no Cold War, Islamic State, beheadings,
just a peaceful morning with sun and snow
gleaming through the windows,
Hopalong Cassidy 45 records for story time,
and alone with mommy before daddy
and the whole world goes sick in the head