A poem about the occasional need for peace

I wish what the adults had said was true and

that the world was what we made of it.

I’d reach into my coat pocket and with a pen

upon the nearest white wall draw

two adjacent doors, one marked “Enter”,

the other labeled “Exit”. Before the later,

I’d sketch thick black footprints leading

towards it, then slip my pen back into

my pocket before slipping out the former

while everyone stared down with sly grins.