Childish Things, Part 2 (Current Events in Haibun)

How we found refuge as children: a path in the woods; a stage; a box of paints; a baseball diamond; a guitar. Those precious moments with no adult voice ringing in our ears. Your refuge then is probably your refuge now.

In an act of extreme empathy, imagine a childhood deprived of refuge. Imagine the life of Junior, destined to be Junior even when he's in his thirties, forties.... Always in the shadow of Senior. Life a parade of bullies, so one better bully-up or else. A good defense is the only defense. No refuge but in being the one who throws the first punch (either literal or figurative). Money is no refuge. Hell has gold bathroom fixtures.

Strange to feel sorry for that chin-thrusting, lip-pouting, visage-sniveling mock prince. Who would change places with him? Who would trade even the memory of refuge for the reality of the craven?

even in summer
the bare branches
of childhood