He’s ten years old so:

He knows everything,
Aliens are real and Bigfoot is not,
But to life outside of video games
He applies no hard-won lessons.

He hears only half of what is said
If he isn’t wearing headphones
And stomps everywhere he goes
With feet too big for his growing body.

His dreams for the future
Are consistent and influential,
And involve mostly real-life work
With just a hint of comic book fantasy.

The last two years have flown by
Faster than his infancy;
I never thought I’d be fighting
So soon to stay relevant.

He’s growing up way too fast.
With less time ahead of us than behind,
His childhood is evaporating
Like the rain puddles he used to splash through.