If I could
I would shrink you
down to fun-size
and slip
you into the left front pocket
of my jeans
so that
when i stood
as i do
with my thumb hooked
into the opening
i could
wiggle my finger around
and know
that you were there
even when you've lost your phone
again
or your hands are covered in glue
due to some, new, experimental
home-improvement project
you are determined to carry out
I would pick you up
and place you
behind my ear
so you could
sing to me
a few notes too low
a few notches too loud
a few lines made up
skipping the verses, of course
but, somehow, better than the original
I would set you on the tip of my pen
so you could
shift your weight
this way and that way
steering my hand
where it needs to go
saving me
the red pen cross-outs
and ruthless critiques
that I rely so dependently upon
I would even let you sit
on the dashboard of that
rundown, beat up, hunk of metal
you make me
drive and I wouldn't even complain
during the "slow down!…dear Jesus!… don't hit the biker"s
so that you could tell me
where to go, so that
I wouldn't lose my way
too far from home
as I sometimes tend to do
If I could
I would shrink you
down to fun-size, so that
as far away as I needed to go
to stretch my wings
and test the waters
I could wiggle my fingers
into the left front pocket
of my jeans
and there you would be.
