Band to Bubbles
S. R. Gabriels
She taps pots and pans with long
wooden spoons. A flashy
colander toddles on her head, stylish.
A fashion statement. His feet patter
down the hall to join her band.
He's a pro at the whisk, a mini
conductor since three. Encores end
when members dance outside. They race
from sidewalk to sidewalk. She
tiptoes along, never
on the cracks. She wins, tears streaming
down his face. But he giggles
when the grass tickles his knees, his eyes wide
as the worm wiggles away. She colors the sky
with chalks of purple and orange, a gorgeous
pink sunset. Under the sunset, a road. His tiny trucks
drive the winding trail. She finds bottles
of bubbles and smiles at the sparkly
prisms bouncing off sunbeams. He watches
the wobbling spheres pop. And a piece
of unattended chalk rolls down the drive.
