Bits and Pieces (a poem for my grandson, Ethan)
In his wisdom, he keeps the heads
in a separate box. Marked: Lego heads.
Feet in another box. Hands in another.
The boxes must be plastic. Plastic for
plastic. Not metal. If plastic is in metal,
it’ll think it’s metal, and Legos are plastic.
Eyebrows and mouths remain fixed
on the plastic heads. Eyes always open.
Some, only one eye.
The pirate has no earring. Poor show.
The nose to ear ratio is precisely equal
to the nose to chin ratio. All heads
are the same. Bodies lack genitalia.
Sex is not the same as gender.
Batman is the same height as Superman.
Batman’s not smiling. Superman is.
Until Batman smiles, Superman wins.
Batman always finds his way on to
the floor. Assume it’s Superman’s doing.
Superman has a jawline. And a chin.
Batman has a neck,
and he’s all thumbs.
The heads pass the day with
quivering chins and small talk.
There’s a throwing up of hands, and
talk of anatomy in the hands box.
The boxes are kept on the top shelf,
like journals of old travellers.
Ethan has various learning challenges, but he is a wizard with Legos. AI image ©Misky 2022. Shared with #amwriting on Twitter