She Plays With
Sticks
or One Day Looking from My Window
by Rico
Salvatore
She picks up a
stick but it’s way too long.
Her dad breaks it in half and handing it
to her hoping he’s not done wrong.
In her little hands it’s a real good
fit she giggles with a smirk.
Dad points to the truck and says, “let’s
move, I’ve got to get to work.”
Camille waves in it front of the truck
door and her sister disappears
mysteriously.
“Now bring her back,” Dad
commands sternly.
“She’s your sister not a cat or
a spider.” He sighs rolling his eyes.
Camille smiles knowingly even though she’s
only six.
Since dad’s a muggle and these
doings, this not science, he has a
struggle.
Mom is inside missing the show.
She’d know what to do ending this
show at the count of four or five or six.
So again with a laugh the stick she waves
and upon the pavement Carmen is splayed.
Into the truck Camille jumps now with
Carmen in her seat belted.
Dad, confused, thinks it’s funny,
knows not what to do and wants to yell.
But instead controls a laugh and tells:
“I mean it’s not nice upon your
sister to cast a spell.”
She considers this while whispering her
chant:
“Enie, meanie, moe. I’m no dope,
so turn my sister into a toad.”
“Turn her back!” Dad yells only
the louder.
Of course she does asking, “but may
I do it later?”
She may be young. She may be small. She’s
got power beyond them all.
She hums a tune:
“A stick is a stick, is a stick, is
a stick, is a stick, except when it isn’t.
HA.”
Poof!
“CAMILLE.”
By
Rico Salvatore © 2023 |
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