From the sign below the marquis 
Where Pinnochio is racing by in pulsing lights

The penguin beckons come in its cool inside
An elderly man in spotless tan linen and salmon silk 
Wearing a panama his shoes white canvas and brown leather
The boy in pressed shorts braces and Sunday shirt
Stands close wide eyed 
The hot sidewalk radiates waves 
In the middle distance downtown
On a dry cloudless summer afternoon

tickets purchased they enter
the loge cool and dark underlit in a temple style
The seats too tall but a lift places him with dangling feet
A silken arm wraps around him as he snuggles in 
To safely watch the magic unfold
The screen miles high and wide
The figures impossibly big alluring surround his conscious being
As jiminy cricket sings upon a star
And all is possible
With his grandfather

Hero of this Matinee