Only

I grew up lost in
imagination.

I loved the art of War.

My parents looked tense.

It was a small ranch house
in the suburbs of Chicago.
Voices and emotions
shook its foundation.

A lonely only child
learned how to play.

It must have been Eighty-seven.

The light blue carpet
served as the mighty seas; to navigate
battle ships.

With no opposition
I had to play both sides.
Days that are foggy memories
years that were participants of
locked doors and muffled yells.

I remember my parents
alone a lot.

They had a way of being there;
not together.

An only child has to create,
the opposition for their play,
for others there is no need
to pretend.