He woke up crying, rocking in his bed,
unable to stand, let alone walk,
and he wondered would he ever be able
to feed himself, toilet himself,
speak his native tongue, sing its songs.
The day was long, but no day is ever
long enough, checking his watch often,
which interfered with everything,
like setting some limit on what might be
accomplished, when he was having
too much fun to want to go home again
as the sun began to sink, everything
darkening what had become so important,
an eclipse of him and his over the course
of that very short day passing like a shadow,
slipping fast from light, the time it takes
a flipped coin to finish up heads or tails,
even if it spins a bit on edge before it stops.
That night he went to bed late as he could,
cried, rolled restlessly, wondered if he’d be able
to walk or feed himself, toilet or bathe himself,
speak his native tongue, sing its songs again.
And like everyone else does, he finally slept,
knew the answer that all of us know very well.