Where Is My Playmate?

I awoke this morning expecting to see the sun

Smile through my window, 

Placing his beam finger on my carpet,

And putting his foot in my shoe.

He laughs at my stringy shadows

When I climb down from my bed.

I hear him shouting from far away

“Wake up! You sleepy head!”

He smiles with his orange face

And giggles when he pats bottom.

And I turn and say to him,
“I love it when you kiss my butt.”

“Don’t go away so fast,” he whispers

As I make my way to the bathroom

“Stay a while, Play a while, and just be

Here and now with me.”

And often I do 

Until my bladder won’t wait,

And the sun races me across the bedroom,

To see who gets to the bathroom first.

He almost always wins.

How could he not.

He is already there.

But not today.

I look out above the curtain

Wondering why the sky is so gray.

Where is my morning playmate?
My shoulders sink, even before I rise.

I climb down from my bed

And turn to face the east.

A dark, heavy grayness 

Has its butt on my window.

“What the hell?”

My nose lifts my face

Whirling me around 

Is that smoke I smell?

And then I remember last night’s
Evening news

That broke my heart,

And gave me the blues.

The forests are burning.

The fire is searing hot.

It’s not satisfied with just eating

The underbrush.

Now it overcooks the trunks of the trees,

Eating the underbrush, the bark and the leaves,

Leaving blackend, accusing poles,

Pointing to Father Sky,

Who sent the igniter,

The lightning fire starter,

To spark the flame

But Father sky we shouldn’t blame.

For we have meddled.
We haven’t listened 

To the original keepers of the land,

Who, long ago, advised us:

Start small fires here and there,

And the forest will be happy

With birds, and bees,

Flowers, and a multitude of green leaves.