when we were small & plastic 

i convinced my brother to climb inside
the plastic pirate ship with me.
the process of shrinking is seamless 
when you're still 6 or 8 years old.
being the older sibling means 
showing the younger one what a toy 
can mean. i wanted to hide from dad. 
i wanted to pretend we were orphans--
pirate orphans & we would be far out at sea.
in the attic all our toys became 
a canal--a great river--a strait. 
stuffed elephants swam 
& lego star wars ships snapped. i liked 
the pirate ship because it had little rooms--
each fully decorated. a room with bunks 
for the sailors & a wheel house for a captain.
we had no plastic pirates-- just our own bodies
made small & pose-able. my brother asked
if we could leave over & over but i told him
we were just playing. i have to be clear
dad wasn't evil he was just 
someone to hide from. he was just massive
& we were small & plastic. he was just
always tired. he once
smack my brother across the head
for spilling his glass of beer 
& then he held him saying
i'm sorry i'm sorry. i believed
if we stayed pirates
nothing like could ever happen again. 
dad would get tired of looking
for us & forget he had two boys
who had been playing in the attic.
i hated my brother's devotion--
how he listened from the deck 
to try & hear dad's foot steps.
if it weren't for him i could have remained.
i could have learned to be a toy--
let the plastic make stiff each muscle.
he cried & curled up in the wheel house
& made me leave with him. we stood
too big in the middle of the attic
staring down at the little ship
& its crooked mast.