David Weinstock Has The Army Termite Midget Dream
Halfway through my 10th year
for the first time ever
I noticed myself. I knew
I was me. I knew
I had to grab
this sudden feeling so it could not get
away: I had to put it into words. Fiercely
I said to myself, "I am me and I know
I am me. Remember this. "
Not long after that, I had a dream,
a regular sort of dream, with
all the nonsensical stuff that happens in dreams.
I gave it a title, and started trying to
sell it on the playground.
"I'm selling dreams," I said.
"I just had The Army Termite Midget Dream
and I'll sell it to you for a dime."
My two best school friends made it clear
this was silly and, worse,
not the least bit entertaining.
Even when I revealed tantalizing details
like Bonnie Peterson wearing
a suit of armor, nobody was buying it.
Nobody was going to pay me to tell them my dreams.
Four inches up this screen
on Blogger's dashboard
there’s a clickable tab that says
I haven't clicked it, but someday
someday I will.
And then I am finally going
to sell somebody that dream.
My strength is as the strength of eight --
My heart is nearly pure.