while the class recites their
multiples of five out loud, in unison,
the little boy silently mouths what he
hopes are the right numbers.
because nobody needs to know
multiples of five on a pirate ship.
cannons are important on a pirate ship,
and swords and eye patches and treasure.
and so the little boy thinks about cannons,
and swords and eye patches and treasure.
maybe he’ll be a pirate someday, this little boy.
‘i before e except after c’ is the
spelling rule the class is made to memorize.
but nobody needs to know about
spelling rules on a baseball diamond.
hitting homers is important on a baseball diamond,
and fastballs and line drives and double plays.
and so the little boy thinks about homers,
and fastballs and line drives and double plays.
maybe he’ll be a baseball player someday, this little boy.
‘who was the father of our country?’
is now the question before the class and
the subject has turned to history.
but the little boy is gazing out the window now,
and looking at clouds,
and thinking about possibilities.
endless possibilities he sees in the clouds.
he could be a pirate, he could be a baseball player.
when you’re a little boy you can be anything.
but little boys don’t always become baseball players,
and no longer become pirates.
little boys become older.
but sometimes they still think about the possibilities.
possibilities lost,
and possibilities found.
maybe they even write poems about them sometimes,
poems about the losing and the finding.
poems about getting older.
poems about endless possibilities
that they still see in the clouds,
because they haven’t stopped gazing out the window.