out there again, is entertained indefinitely
by pebbles picked up and
plunked, splosh!, into puddles
in potholes we're grateful for now,
in the new crazy-simple walkabout world.
Before not-singing screen-chorus
game time tonight, I'll drive
the small blocks to Steve Steeb's
to leave the Jeep for retraining
to this atmosphere, and rotated tires.
Then walk back. Mavis may be
on stick-poking duty by then,
or peering into drain grates,
those curious depths, in how
big is big, how small small,
and how far down does that go, for
Mavis, the toddler with the old lady name.