My frightening moments in the toy section

By Jon Hillenbrand In Poetry

And with tears and longing, a forgotten child cringes, small hands clutching at the unpurchased toy, the life preserver and the reason and the hated reason, love at first sight, pretending not to notice the fading nearness of mothers skirt, vague fantasies projecting into mysteries.

And all the world collapses in a blacked out tunnel, frozen light, dulled echoes, imaginary pins of sound with applied meaning, throbbing pulse in his brain, cold compression in the chest, palms sweaty and mouth dry.

And the wanting desire for the now-trinket melting slowly into the realization that for wanting a better life the one he knew is slipping into the sea of adult stares and premature independence for this new untouchable. Darkness shall come, I shall not be found, my world is as short as a thick fog on a still sea.

The motion, the familiar footstep, the turn of a hand and the way her back aches against the purse, there she is.

What do you think?