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On The Reality
of Their Future

They proudly write their names and addresses on stamped postcards,

tie them with red ribbon each to a blue helium balloon. 


They gather on the kickball field, 

Wide-eyed, in scraggly lines with their classmates,

Hoping that theirs will be the one.


Some never make it out of their hands,

Some leave too early,

Some sink, unable to escape the forces that tie them down,

Some get caught in the wind and tangle in the power line,

Some pop, and others float in scattered directions.


Each child is equal for a brief moment,

Ready all at once to let go.

Published in The Poet: Childhood Anthology