I dream of floating over the backyard fence. High enough to see the neighborhood kids splash in the pool next door. A party I wasn’t invited to. How I want to be there. Be part of summer. Part of water. Part of laughter. Part of a group.
But I’m not a groupie. I am wallpaper. I am the grasshopper on the backyard fence. Unnoticed.
So I float. Slowly. A balloon with no enthusiasm. I can almost see the neighborhood. A neighborhood of cookie-cutter houses, faded and worn. Houses full of people with no enthusiasm. People who float through the summer heat that melts ice cubes on the sidewalk within a minute.
The birds on the telephone wires shake their heads at the small lives floating below them.
I need a bigger view. Teach me to fly, birds. There’s more to life than fences.
published in Alien Buddha Zine #61, April 2024, republished in Iceberg's Poetry
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