Tuesday, May 21, 2013

Kite flying in the Spring of 1968

I am ten years old
and it is time to fly a kite

For what small change
I can squeeze out from
the small slit of my fathers
plastic change purse
I can fly a kite

Running to Parade Market
I make a list:

My sense of pride grows
as my kite fly's higher and higher
with each tug of the
long white string

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