The Price Of His Toys Poem by Cj Heck

The moments are rare,
but when the mower is silent
and the hammer and nails
have joined the drill
and other tools in the garage,

my eyes can get hell bent
on pursuading the rest of me
they see not a man enjoying
his golden years, but the child
the man once was.

It's a brief insight -
but when I'm allowed to see,
it's a treasured glimpse
into a life I wasn't privy to share.

Today on the lawn
I saw a young boy,
a precocious lad of perhaps six.
His hair was tousled,
both barefoot and shirtless,
tying rags to the tail of a kite
then running with the wind,
delight oozing from every pore.

Then just as quickly
the vision was gone.
I was left staring in awe
at my gentle giant,
so comfortable in his old skin
and merely flying a kite
with our grandson.

Once more I am reminded,
there is no difference
between a man and a boy
- only the price of his toys.