Member-only story
A Child’s Joke
A Poem
She walked into the room with a clever eye.
“Dad,” she declared, “what kind of a bow can’t be tied?”
As my children age, I’ve come to embrace these moments.
Savour them.
Soak them in.
Simmer amongst them.
I want to experience them, neverending.
A joke, she’d probably been waiting all day,
To strike me down with this sagacious riddle.
How shamefaced I would be, she expected,
To find myself dumbstruck for a resolution.
In my head, the answer was clear.
I could visualize the colours as if they were right in front of me:
Red.
Orange.
Yellow.
Green.
Blue.
Indigo.
Violet.
I could see the gold-coloured glow at the prism’s end.
I was boggled over the prospect of a leprechaun.
I could visualize an attempt to tie this bow, and failing.
Although the answer was clear,
I needed her to think she had got me.
She had beat me with the joke, of…
