How am I fitting in this right now?
It’s been years, centuries since I
was small enough to terrorize villages
and miniature pedestrians
in this mighty blue vehicle.
It has remained in this spot, reigning
over the ghostly masses crushed
into my grandmother’s carpet.
How? I can’t remember myself tasting
this detachable, this curly and blue.
On one hand it is nice to be back here,
the smell of rotting house and sweet old lady.
She’ll be so pleased to see me
in this little car again. She always loved
talking about how I’d thunder down the halls.
I suppose it was my legs that got in the way
as I grew older, the lengthening of my spine.
All that is gone now so I suppose it makes sense
that I can fit into the pedal car.
I can even see the villages, the pedestrians,
bustling along like I never happened
Ellen Webre is a Southern California poet greatly inspired by her friends in the Orange County poetry scene and their prompts. She is a regular at the Ugly Mug poetry readings and has been featured there, the Coffee Cartel and Mosaic in UC Riverside.
