Funny story. I wasn’t able to walk upright on my own
Two too long before I found myself possessed by an urge to go outside to play.
One rule: stay, stay in the yard. So I’d twirl myself dizzy and fall, lisp Highway to the Danger Zone,
Roll down the hill like a barrel, or teeter clapping at lightning bugs. But in the yard I’d stay.
What a good boy am I! I’d think. (Jack Horner was good, not mean like that snot Georgie-Porgie).
Then one day the sky was wolves and the faraway pines were smoky and I was bad and alone.
At first, my wooden rifle blew bad men without faces to smithereens in a petulant orgy
Of deathless death. And then I saw the farmhouse down the road by the pines. Then I was gone.