To the Children

I would give them balloons,
large red balloons that would
pull them, their brothers, their
sisters to teh mountains that
they cannot reach by foot.

There, without machetes to
chop or bundles of firewood
to carry home, we would
sleep beneath the heavy
canopy, drink water
from the hanging gordes.

There in the soft underbrush
there would be quiet laughter,
the strange singing of the
jungle birds, and the heavy
creak of the mile high trees.

But first, we must find balloons,
large red ones, thousands of them
that can carry us all at once,
far from this place with no air.