Beardless Chin Children

Peter kisses the ground once

again, before shooting upwards

towards the stars, his pockets

full of thimbles, his eyes glow

amber with honey-like desire

for adventure pulsing within,

Perhaps a little foreplay before

toying with the Captain once

again, a pocket-watch clinging

to his thigh, humming in

anticipation,

Where are all the Lost Boys now?

Probably stuffing their faces with

cakes and donuts, their sense of

duty bound up in the antics of the

kitchen and their beautiful mother,

Their eyes hungry like mice, the

insatiable greed of gluttony thick

on their bibs, dribbling down their

beardless chins,

Peter sings to himself to hone

out his angry thoughts, there's

nothing like an enemy to provide

some much-needed meditation.