Still young
I had no inclination
to make a realistic space
for play.
An ambulance carved
whiff-skew patterns
in mother’s carpet.
Alarming bombast
in my elastic mouth
eeeooo eeeooo.
It was a softer sound
my mother would make
when applying band-aids
to skinned knees.
A tap on the head signaled
that maintenance was complete
and without fear
I went to play with the boys.
eeeooo eeeooo.
It was older when I discovered that
the siren signaled hope, not trouble.
The marks of a car going whiff-skew
against wet pavement run to the base of a tree.
A single leaf alternates red and blue
as the ambulance pulls away.
Alarming bombast stuck in my throat.
…