My son’s poem!
“Triceratops had three horns,” you tell your little
brother, and he believes you. He believes you and
it doesn’t even matter you’re right. It doesn’t matter
how many horns some dinosaur may have had however many millions of years ago.
You’re his big bro and you can run faster than anybody
on the block and you can throw a ball farther than
Hughie Landers and you can climb any tree to the top,
so, uh, yeah. When you tell your little brother “triceratops
had three horns,” jesus cripes does he believe you.
“And we could both ride a baby one,” you say, “that’s how big
they are, even as babies, we could both fit.”
“Oh wow,” he says jogging along side you, eager to keep up
with your quick and long strides.