You say ahoy, matey, and
it doesn’t matter that Daddy’s not
coming home, because here thar be
pirates, and this swing
ship. The breeze slips
around us like a rum song,
and I see the world for a moment
through your one unpatched eye –
these old willows be beasties
and that sky, the open sea.
We’ve got wrapping paper tube
swords and oranges
(to stave off the scurvies),
and that old white picket fence
has turned into a proper plank.
These white sheet sails are
perfect for catching stars. See?
There’s treasure here,