This poem is for all the kids
who pretended they could fly.
For all those who drummed
with carrot sticks at lunch time,
and smoked a large fat pretzel
as if it were a Cuban cigar.
It reaches out those special few
that always had a joke if you asked,
and also those that recognize the air guitar
as an actual instrument of play.
This poem is for the brothers and sisters
that played hangman with hotel pens
on the programs of the Church
on early Sunday mornings.
It's for all those that turned a playroom
in to American Gladiators,
and a vacant basement
in to Legends of the Hidden Temple.
This is for all those kids
who acted like they were actually dead
after being shot with a nerf gun
or Super Soaker Nine Thousand.
This is for all of those carefree kids,
and the adults that still act like them.
This poem is in dedication to those that realize
that life is too short to cry,
so we should laugh, play, and imagine
that anything is possible, especially happiness.