we don't eat pancakes, eggs, sausages;
we just dream about them.
and fruit salad, ambrosia, little pink
cupcakes. more and more I can really
imagine a good meal
and almost feel full from it
but my allowance goes into books
and books and books until I think
I'm going to turn into one, one day
and when someone speaks to me
I'll just have to manage somehow
to say: please turn the page
like the read-along-with-the-book
back in the day.
was there really only the one day?
then it happens. the chime you've
been waiting for after the best illustration
ever, the tinkerbell voice declaims:
oh, please, little child listening oh, please
(fairy dust scattering ping)
turn the page.
mary angela douglas 12 april 2016