On Fleek

He’s at the age

where dark picture 

books are hurled

across the room.

Bad guy, he proclaims,

judging their expressions

with unfailing accuracy.

And though he refuses

to look, still

he plays flee the monster

with his great grandpa,

“scary, scary, scary,”

his invitation: hands curved

like talons framing his face

and a hideous grimace

everything on fleek

for his rendition

the climax

cheeks flush

heart-pounding adrenaline

as he is pursued

by the creeping

old man.  I have yet

to read him the stories

of trolls guarding the bridge

to the destination —

the castle of everything

good, where princesses sleep

next to a freshly bitten

apple.  Right now, he creates

his own telling

of the human condition,

jumping into my arms

and turning to yell, Safe!

and a frowning command, Stop!

 

Inspired by: Castle, Scary, Troll, Fleek, Flush

Published by

Victoria Stuart

I'm a poet, philosopher and inner seeker. A giver, lover and a healer who studies the heart.

5 thoughts on “On Fleek”

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