happiness

i remember my son
telling me about the house
down the street,
across the tracks,
the mini mansion
with a fountain out front,
how wonderful
it was there, how they
had a pool
and pinball machines.
video games.
cold sodas
on ice. sandwiches on trays
brought out by a housekeeper
who spoke French.
there was
a leather couch with a tv
as large
as a wall.
it sounded wonderful
the way
he painted the picture
of this paradise.
maybe you could go live
there i told him.
maybe they have room
for you.
they could adopt you.
we could still stay in touch,
if you'd like,
or maybe i could spray
you with the hose
in the back yard and later
we could play catch.
but you decide.
i don't want to stand
in the way of your
happiness.