I Was Five

He was sixty,
But five still.

He was a man, grey and balding,

But blue and red could not make purple,
And his A’s were awful U-ish.

His pencil had no ridges, it being

Fat and yellow like his fingers.

Why was mine so thin?

Outside of the school room,

His bellowing, his off-tempo skip,
And laughter-induced slobbering--
All five.

That smile was five

Disguised in costume
As a greying grandfather.

He was the only adult to

Play Tag and play it terribly,
Not knowing what was “it.”

I didn’t know why.

No longer five,

I know.