My Treehouse

I have decided I am not too old

For a treehouse.

Not a real one, of course,

An emotional one.

On those days I don’t feel

Like addressing the woes of the world,

I will simply pull up the ladder

So nothing can disturb me

In the peace and quiet

Of my mind.

To silence responsibility

As it shouts in my head.

Work! Chores! Bills! Laundry!

No time to rest!

Or to stifle news of

War

Cruelty

Famine

Death.

So, if the ladder is up,

Just shout out the secret password

And come join me.

We’ll have milk and cookies

While the ugliness of the world

Goes on beneath us.

There will be time enough

To face all that again

Later.