Losing them, fixing them, forgetting to put them in
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A scruffy summer country fair,
humid dust stirring.
The gypsy man with a walk like dance
said, “You want to ride, little girl?”
My legs stuck out straight as sticks
on the back of the elephant —
skin the leather of work gloves broken in,
heart bigger than my whole head.
The large slow lope moved my hips
in a figure eight. The man said,
“You like that, yes?”
I nodded, holding on — I was afraid
and did not want to stop.
Nothing stops the elephant of my dreams.
Riding over the hill, and down,
and on, and on.