Foolish attitude

I was a boy, with mouth agape, 

Chipmunk cheeks, red from cold.

I had wanted to dance. Footloose style,

all the way to school. To feel alive.

But no, no, reserved as always. 

A politicians face, yes. Demeanor, yes.

My silver hairs give me away

the stress of always trying too hard

to placate an ever-greedy world.

But when I get home, 

my eyes will brighten

I will dance in my room, 

and listen to my favorite music.

I can dream of so many things, 

and the world will never know.

A foolish boy walked among them, 

that he wore their mask,

and their socks. Their warm soft socks.