This is not pen

“This is not a pen!” she said,
(A frown, a pensive pause)
“This is not a pen!” she said,
Although to me it clearly was.

“This is a magic wand!” she chirped,
The way all children do,
“This is a magic wand!” she chirped,
“Is it not obvious to you?”

“Look, I’m a magic fairy!” she cried,
(Her cardboard wings fall down again)
“Look I’m a magic fairy!” she cried,
(She points the nib, the wand, the pen)

“Zap! You’re a butterfly! Flap, flap!”
(I flap my arms not to offend)
“Zap! You’re a butterfly! Flap, flap!
“Come on, it’s just pretend!”

“Woof-woof! You’re a dog now!
Roll over, come on, get going!”
(Still mimicking wings, I sigh,
My temper steadily growing)


“Choo-choo! You’re a train!
Look, there’s the station”
“I’m too old for this game,” I shout
(Rising in indignation)

“This is not a pen” she said,
“It’s really magic, not a game”
“Yes, whatever you say” I coax,
(Forgetting that I was once the same)

Forgetting how many evenings elapsed
In a world of childish make-believe,
Where reality knew no bounds,
Where guns were sticks and castles trees.

“This game’s over, I’ve had enough” I whine,
And leave quickly in frustration,
Wondering at exactly what point in time
I lost my imagination.