The nine year old in the
unhappy home
at 28 Carmelina Court
knows what it is to soar without wings
above the houses on her street.
She has done it many times
asleep so don’t even think
of saying “That’s not really flying”
Her secret friend
a chimpanzee roughly her size
drops into the backyard
on occasion just to walk
beside her beneath a bleaching sun
“Holding hands with a chimp?”
she insists she has done it
“Flying like Superman?”
“I actually know what that’s like”
she tells her friends
Last week she was out
in the weather, standing
in the street singing softly
picking up things.
There was a wad of old bubblegum
on the ground, blackened
and flattened with tire tracks
She bent to look more closely
using her nails to free it
from the tar-and-chip road
Traces of sweetness survived
beneath the grit
but it was tough chewing so she
spit it out, cleaning her mouth
with the pouring down rain
She was the only one out there, stomping
her white rubber boots,
kicking waves at the clumps
of mud-covered leaves in the gutter.
In a week she would require medication
for the worm squirming
around her internal ecosystem.
It made for a new story of adventure
she didn’t really understand
Perfect poem with the photo and vice-versa!
Love it! So nice to see you posting again.