Thank you for telling me about flaming turds
when everything else went whack.
And underoos that walked around
and Barney...Power Rangers...Final Fantasy as god.
I just might tell my children someday.
Maybe.
You tried to tell me not to cry;
that laughter works best in this surreal world,
but I hid my head and mumbled.
"Weirdo."
You laughed some more and understood.
Flaming turds are what gets us along,
the hair spray-filled lungs,
the pounding question, "are ewe scared?"
the strangest thing that made us laugh.
The thing that made you you.
I hope I remember to tell my children about flaming turds.
Dear Gawd, I'll never forget!
