My mother came over tonight with a couple of items from her treasure box. The treasure box is a pile of stuff she wanted to keep from when we were kids. Some of the items she brought over were not labeled, so without further introduction, here are some poems which are probably by me at age unknown:

Place

It is very strange, this place of mine,
it is a place of dim sunlight.
My place is a wonderful place.
Where you go to fly jets,
shoot at enemy spys,
or kill the bad guys.
You can go flying through the air,
and land anywhere.
You can stay all day,
but you have to wake up with the sun rays.

-Unknown McCulloch Son

Mom

Mom makes me laugh
Mom makes lots of crafts,
Mom lets me go and roll.
Mom likes to make bread
but can’t do it on her own.
Mom has a million recipes,
three boxes it’s true.
Mom burn food, no way,
just a little dark.
“Mom, lower your voice.
What’s for dinner? Make a choice.”
“What looks good?”
“I don’t care.”
“Good night. I love you.”
“Ditto, Mom.”

-Unknown McCulloch Son