Charlie found a box. He loved the box. I broke down the box and threw it on Thanksgiving morning before our guests arrived.
Charlie was angry. Elysha told me he nearly cried.
I get it.
The one and only poem I ever published was about this very thing, inspired by an afternoon spend on a muddy hill with a large, cardboard box and my friend, David Dunne.
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.
– Matthew Dicks
