sitting with Otis we watch the time slip away;
we toss both our Rolexes in the haggard bay.
and wait for a cast-aways' bottle of intrigue.
in it will be a pirate's map of buried treasure.
a spot marked X, dig here! the unwritten sign.

Otis spots it first, the red X is bobbing, afloat,
skidding slowly on the shoulders of the waves
that pull the Moon closer and then, farther.
every day, every week, months, years, aeons!

my day changes, Otis' day changes. we don't.
down deep he is still Otis the Five Year Old;
me, beside him, proud of my Five Year Old.

he starts to say something, then silences.
makes me wonder what he was thinking.

Otis gives me hope for the tomorrows to come.

07/30/2008

Posted on 07/30/2008
Copyright © 2026 Charlie Morgan