Years ago, I wrote a poem about the value of a cardboard box. It was based upon an afternoon that I spent with my childhood friend, David.
The poem won a writing contest, was published in a now-defunct literary journal, and earned me a little cash. My first legitimate payday as an writer (I sold term papers to classmates in high school and made a bundle, but that was hardly legal).
These photos of my son epitomize the essence of that poem.
_____________________________
Save Your Money Next Time and Just Give Me the Box
Thank you Mother,
for the red, aerodynamic toboggan
that I found under the Christmas tree this morning,
with it’s chiseled runners and
precision steering wires.
But Mother dearest,
in the future,
please know that I have found nothing more exhilarating
than a steep, muddy hill
and a sturdy refrigerator box.
