Long curly dishwater hair waves in the breezeShe pads along the sidewalk net in hand.
Not a fisherman’s net –
long and flowing,
one that you would cast into the sea.
On the contrary,
her small tanned hand wraps aroundthe handle of a dainty pink ,
tear-shaped, perfect-for-her-size net –
one she hopes to trap a fluttering
beautiful Butterfly in before long.
She doesn’t care what coloras long as she can bring a smile
to the little one that
trails behind in his
red and black web-covered
I find it ironic that he,who is clad in such a deadly snare
wants to seek out the beauty of
a butterfly and snare it too.
Chatter emanates from down below,“I wish I had a house this big,”
a little voice sighs as they pass
clone after clone of stucco mud-brown
houses with false dormers.
His sister keeps walking,“I wish we could do this every day,”
“…What every day?” the little wanna-be-spider-man asks.
‘Not have to go to school,” was her reply.
A few more steps,
bodies fade away.
Their pattering feet and voices
I hope they catch their butterfly.