Circuit
Avenue is
no longer mine to claim.
I must return the rope bracelet
tonight.

It was
never yours. Not
an islander. A girl
without a street, without a pail
to swing.

Let’s talk
about the square
that dreams of becoming
an octagon you can trust to
stop soon.

No one
knows what happened
to the thick plastic horse
that used to guard the entrance to
your tent.

I swear
I didn’t steal
your Pegasus. Would not
drown it in a bucket of salt
water.

Sadware,
even sadder
octopus trapped inside.
I do not know how to be your
hero.

Follow
me to the best
swimming hole down island
where feathers float on the surface
in pairs.

Let them
all go free. It’s
too late. The beach ball in
your hands deflated before you
were born.