A Plastic Bag

A plastic bag, a windy day, she's darting, dancing high and low, coquettish in her flight of fancy, all in all, a one-bag show; a street performer with a twist, I wish you could have seen her, a holder meant for groceries, a no-name ballerina. Erratic, yes, but orchestrated, it's as if a puppeteer controlled the choreography, a protege without a peer. She soared and swooped, this virtuoso, then the errant wind was gone, and I was left to ruminate, an audience of one.