On Having Grown Up

The appearance of loveliness wore off gradually.
It started with the faerie dust, which had to be swept
From crevices in the Wendy House.
The island in the clouds became a kitchen peninsula,
Fading into a grout and tile countertop.
She had known it would be a compromise,
But couldn't have guessed
How he would sulk when she did not want to fly,
Or how he'd become impatient when the illusion broke
And he came to understand
That calling himself Father didn't really make him one.
How he didn't want to come home.
Their lives more and more embodied Never-Never
And the boy she had married was a real person,
Who still dreamt of fighting pirates and Indians
But resigned, instead, to a mortgage.