Pre emptive Knots (Spring 08)

(So this is a prose poem. Basically a short snap shot that should use heightened language to make the scene super vivid. Some find this idea annoying, but i like the anything goes vibe...)

I saw a little boy with a blue balloon, on the block of 2nd avenue where the bus to Queens stops. He stood facing the bridge, away from the slanted afternoon sun, so no light bounced off his metal-framed glasses. He held the very end of the ribbon, which was yellow to match his little-kid blonde hair. The slight breeze placed the balloon at a low angle, almost at his eye level. he grinned at it like you grin at a cherished friend from across the swing set. I wanted desperately to find his mother and tell her to tie that ribbon around his gradeschool-sized write. Tightly, so it couldn't slip over his delicate fingers. Although it's circumference would not be impressive, a circle like that could ward off the possibility of losing that balloon. Because balloons float away, I would explain. Right up and over the skyline like they never even loved you. Your only hope is to secure that golden knot, pull it tightly, just above where the blue veins become visible beneath the skin. Otherwise he'll have to learn about how things get lost sometimes, and no matter how many growth spurts you've lived through you can't reach high enough to get them back. And that lesson is too hard to process when the brick sidewalk is warm from a whole day of sunlight and summer is close enough to smell. Not yet, I would plead with her. Tie that knot to hold through summer, at least until the leaves start to turn.