A playground, in a park. One lady
raises to the top of the slide a ball
of newspaper, gives it a kiss:
'Ready . . . set . . . go!' Another holds
a lampshade in her hands, smoothing
its chenille bangs. 'My daughter,
you should see her dance—
she's already won two prizes.'
'Did I tell you mine—he's three—can already write?'
A girl, in line behind them with her son,
is listening. She tightens her grip on his hand,
hoping no one
will notice he's real, and alive.