The day we divided the world

I see my childhood stacked high,
memories of special cinema trips,
bus rides where we begged to sit upstairs and at the front,
taking over the whole row of seats,
one on the left, one on the right.

"Everything on the left hand side of the bus is mine" I would say.
"Yeah, well everything on the right hand side of the bus is mine" my brother would say.
"That Macdonald's, that's mine"
"I own Toys R Us"
"This park, the swings, the roundabout, climbing frame, that's mine"
"Ooh I get this swimming pool and then aaaaalllll the swimming pools I can't see behind it"
"Well, then, I get the ice rink and every ice rink on the left hand side of the country"
"That means that this Burger King and all of the Burger Kings in the whole world, going from right to left, all the way round, are mine, and you'll never be able to eat at a Burger King again unless you ask my permission, and I might say yes or I might say no, but you'll have to ask ME first"
"Whatever, I get all the...."

And our mother presses the bus button,
we walk down the stairs,
ice skating and Burger Kings quickly moving into the back of our minds,
as we're careful not to topple downwards,
alighting energetically in front of the cinema,
our plan to divide up the world a distant memory in the face of a
giant green alien we didn't yet know.

"Take me to your leader"