I awoke in a sweat
but the toys were asleep,
the noise of childhood faded.
I had cut my hair, cut my finger,
but couldn’t cut my losses.
Time bled, profusely, into the night.
Laughter is the hardest sound
to resurrect, silence a vacuum.
Let the words entertain, I thought.
Remote control and proliferating
pixels had entered my bloodstream.
The small plastic idols of my youth
sat undecomposed in landfills.
Perhaps last night’s play date
was a dream. Maybe the toys are dead.