To a child in the street outside

You seem to be in my place.

Surely
it should be me

out there 

running

in the street

giggling

hand in hand

with the best of my friends

hair bobbing
and our eyes 
flashing dares to each other

dashing somewhere

on the whim
of a sudden plan.

It seems that you 

have taken my place

and the run of this street 

is yours.

Or have I

backed out

of my own accord?

To sit now

drained from work,
slippered
and silvering,

watching through grimy glass

wondering when

the giggle

deserted

my chest.

To feel each present
and perhaps constructed
laugh
modulating 
then resolving

into an interrupted
cadence.