Years ago, I wrote a poem about the value of a cardboard box. It was based upon an afternoon that I spent with my childhood friend, David.
The poem won a writing contest, was published in a now-defunct literary journal, and earned me a little cash. My first legitimate payday as an writer (I sold term papers to classmates in high school and made a bundle, but that was hardly legal).
These photos of my son epitomize the essence of that poem.
Save Your Money Next Time and Just Give Me the Box
Thank you Mother,
for the red, aerodynamic toboggan
that I found under the Christmas tree this morning,
with it’s chiseled runners and
precision steering wires.
But Mother dearest,
in the future,
please know that I have found nothing more exhilarating
than a steep, muddy hill
and a sturdy refrigerator box.