Logan

There is a little boy I know,
I babysit him every month,
The first Friday.
His name is Logan,
He looks about six,
But he's in the fourth grade.

He's such a sweet heart,
When I walk in, he says hello,
Other than his speech,
His disability doesn't really show.

Logan has Down syndrome,
AKA Trisomy 21.
My heart feels a pang every time I see him,
He is his father's son.

I give him his breakfast,
He eats the same thing every time.
A sausage wrapped in pancake,
Then cut into little dimes.

He likes to play the Wii,
He's quite good at MarioKart,
He doesn't like to go to school,
I agree with him, on that part.

He's quite a stubborn child,
He won't put on his shoes,
He likes to dance and jiggle,
His backpack is small and blue.

He's very mean at times,
He locked me in his room,
Sometimes he is happy,
Other times, full of gloom.

Has the thought crossed your mind?
Don't you see?
That boy is no different
Than you or me.

His mind may be a little in space,
But his heart is in the right place.