It wasn’t me!
The little boy spun in a circle, pajamas flapping.
Some guy came into my room
in the middle of the night,
knocking about. The moon
was in the window, watching.
Ask the moon! He saw it all!
The little boy pointed at the sky, his red-gold hair
straight up like a tiny field of wheat.
The guy went zooming like a tornado.
He wore a mask. He sounded growly.
He spilled my water. He broke Henry the Horse.
He threw all my pennies in the closet. I think he took
my kite and my astronaut socks.
I was so scared, my heart did acrobats.
The little boy huffed as if it was so much work
to take a breath.
I thought it was a dream. Then I didn’t.
Can we lock the window tonight?
I’m sorry Henry the Horse is in a million pieces.
He was a faithful horse.
The little boy bowed his head as if a great sadness
nestled on his shoulders like a fat cat.
Can we have a funeral?
Can we do it after breakfast?
Can we have pancakes?
Copyright 2015, Mercedes Lawry
Mercedes Lawry has published poetry in such journals as Poetry, Nimrod, Prairie Schooner, Natural Bridge, and others. Thrice-nominated for a Pushcart Prize, she’s published two chapbooks, short fiction, essays and stories and poems for children.