If a white lie is okay with you Wendy
I’m going to fly to your window tonight.
It’s been a long time I know
but don’t worry
I won’t tap on the glass
or startle you
not while you’re ironing your husband’s shirts
and smiling at the perfect lines
you’re pressing into his sleeves.
You seem so content
Like you’re in another world.
I notice you don’t flinch
when on the hour
the cuckoo bird pops in and out of his house
to announce the time
and you don’t seem to notice
the grey cat rising from its sleep
to circle the room.
I wonder if you still have that shadow I left behind
all those years ago
or maybe a few specks of that pixie dust in a jar somewhere.
Maybe you hide them in the big cupboard by the front door
the one with the rusty lock.
As soon as you scoot off to bed
I might come in and check that cupboard.
But then, what if I couldn’t find the key
or what if i found the key but couldn’t open it
or what if i opened it and found nothing.
I couldn’t bare it.
You know life would have worked out differently for me
if I had never met you Wendy
and I would have ended up belonging somewhere
not half way between the sky and the sea,
between my dreams and reality,
between London and Neverland.
Only now am I learning the value of belonging somewhere.
Only now is it dawning on me that I can’t run from life forever
and the truth of the matter is
that i’ve outgrown flying
and all I want is for my feet to touch the ground
and to walk alongside you or opposite you or behind you
with you, so long as I’m with you Wendy.
Not in some cloud or on some shooting star
but in that coffee shop around the corner from here
or in the queue at the post office.
But it’s midnight again and that stupid cuckoo bird is announcing the time again
and i can’t listen to it anymore
and I can’t wait anymore
because even little boys who never grow up grow old.
It hurts Wendy.
Sometimes it hurts too much
and I lose my nerve and get cross with you
and in a dark and empty hour I call you Captain Hook!
You see ever since I met you
I became the boy who could never land
always keeping busy and never stopping
filling in time with the same old adventures
telling the lost boys the same old lies
and putting them to bed with the same old story.
It begins with once upon a time
and ends with Peter Pan
flying to Wendy’s open window
and finding her there
with an old shadow tucked under her arm like a newspaper
some dust buzzing like bees in a jar on the ledge
and her hair,
Wendy’s hair waving at him in the wind
like the hands of innocent children.