treehouse poem

some one has hung a net at the entrance to the tunnels, for minnows.

this is me and the treehouse i built when i was small, with friend david

the tree has since grown around the wood (which was arsenicized) like gums around an ancient toothpick.

i remember pounding these nails in

and when david dropped a bord on my head and i thought i was dead from nail brane

i hope my son becomes a famous musician with fancy hands and a trademark smile, some day. Marin's eating my brane.

but for now he can stare at the multi-colored plastic things we have to make his brane grow