Loneliness and chocolate milk =
two important staples of a childhood as a
person who wants to be a writer.
Another thing is desperate boredom
and another is macaroni in cartoon shapes.
Actually all of this is just specific to me.
I mean it could be anyone.
When I was a kid I loved:
The library on a rainy day
The hallway at school on a rainy day
when I went out to sharpen my pencil.
Anywhere when it rained—so rare in my state
and so good.
My first library card was green, I signed
my name in cursive not mine yet.
Are you going to read all of those?
A big brown paper bag of new faces and
old friends (only old friends on a sick day).
On the couch with a thermometer under
my hot tongue and hands dry with paper.
Breakfast with borrowers.
Recess with Jack London and cold wet leaves.
I could smell snow.
You should go play.
I didn’t know how to smile on my birthday.
Someone still told me to go to bed at eight o’clock and
I reached under my pillow, never been happier than
night and a flashlight and no sleep.