For PJ Markou

A poem for one of my good guy friends

To the tallest 5 year old who ever lived
Who sees sticks not as something to build
But something to destroy and to destroy with.
Who thinks he’s too old for Tonka trucks
And plays with real cars instead.
Who is never without his play phone
Which is actually a real phone.
Who sings all the songs
But only knows half the words
Who loves his surfboards and skateboards
And whiteboards he can scribble on
Who isn’t afraid of the cooties on a girl
Even those on older girls (like his girlfriend; aged 18)
To the boy who will always grow
But never grow up
Who, if you ask about it real age
Will giggle, smile and say
“Hey.
I’m at least six.”