Feeling nostalgic while going through my file of poems. I wrote this one in 2012 after watching my son and Daisy through the back windows.
A Boy and His Dog
She waits outside the door
dressed in a beard of dirt
The trenches have been dug
He grabs a plastic gun
packed with bullets of foam
Dons a red cap
studded with black spikes
A lizard-boy ready for battle
They trample thickets of hosta
evading bleeding hearts
as they flush danger with footsteps
She sniffs the air
ready to call the alarm
He takes aim
fires three shots
before they move again
I watch barricaded by windows
not wanting to trespass on pleasure
straining to hear the march
of their private song
The Light Behind the Story 
This is amazing. “straining to hear the march of their private song.” I’ve know this experience with my own kids. How often I’ve wished I could be one of their close friends and share the magic. Instead I’m a parent. A muggle.
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Thank you. Yes, it’s not quite the same observing the magic, but we all have that inner child who stills knows the secrets of it. ❤
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