untitled memory poem

we lost him at the amusement park 
in the part for younger kids 
				is that right to say we lost him when he ran off? 
half-height rides for half-height riders. 
All the thrills 
of a missing child 
the park was safe 
a company perk a family day 
we just had to find him 
before the end was ruins. 
my parents called his name 
they asked around 
their steps moved quicker 
more searchers joined 
i grew quieter 
				my resentment grew louder 
i don’t know if they shut the gates 
if they called an alert 
if they involved the police 
i don’t know how my parents felt 
as the sun set 
with their son missing 
				is that right to say he ruins everything? 
fireworks in celebration 
everywhere eyes cast up 
All the thrills 
of a summer night 
between explosions 
at a run my father heard 
a soft cry and looked up 
the prodigal 
on a branch in a tree 
eyes to the wine-dark sky 
face flooded lost forever 
a spark of joy 
that he’d been found 
a fleeting thought 
				i’d almost been an only child

I feel compelled, despite a small audience, to remind that the narrator is not the author, even in a autobiography or work that is primarily a memory.