Boat, Kenneth P. Gurney

I wanted to retreat back into my childhood,

but every time I made the attempt I failed.

I read up on advanced physics

to understand the non-linear shape of time,

but I failed to grasp it fully

and only went back as far as last week

when that green chili corn dog

gave me heart burn.

I read a bunch of Heinlein books

and reread the one about Job three times 

and wished for an interested god 

to change my circumstances,

but nothing happened—

at least, nothing I recognized.

As the winter holidays were approaching,

I sought a way to summon

the ghost of Christmas past

and ask him to take me back,

but my failed conjuration efforts

centered around stale cookies

left on a broken porcelain plate

and a sour glass of milk.

Since I could not retreat

back into my childhood

I sought a way to advance 

into the same region

from a different angle,

but all my industrious efforts

where for naught

and my feet were sore

by the end of the day

and, really, all I wanted

was for someone 

to buy me a banana split 

like my Dad use to do on my birthday

and feel that sort of joy again.