I don’t have the heart
to tidy up the hallway
the careful shrine
to your collection of treasures
backhoe
front loader
and dump truck
filled with rolled up balls of paper
we’ve convinced you
is a type of dirt
a few Lego blocks
that you stack
or line up in a row
depending
on something invisible
yet clear
three plastic lizards
that look real
and yelp
when I step on them
which is often
and boat and guy
for you’ve never been one
for creative names
they sit
moored
a tiny pair
in a narrow prison
of giant machines
office towers
and dinosaurs
you always say goodnight
to them last
after you have arranged
everything else
just so
perhaps to reassure them
that you are master
of hallway land
that despite
what zebra or bear say
they are safe.