Mother of Industry

I didn’t realize that all those years of anxious play would lead to so many play-less years. They don’t play anymore, either. We still dress up, one in a suit, one in a uniform, me in my smile. We still pretend, but not for fun. I dream of those toy soldiers and trucks I gave them. Looked it up and found out they’re made from lead, a subtle poison with not so subtle dreams. I suppose that’s the magic in that. Blood magic.