. . .Then, the next day, you just appeared again.
However, this next day you were very different.
Your little blond head was bowed,
your eyes looked tired, weak, and dull, the twinkle gone,
Like the bright flame, of a guiding candlelight suddenly and without warning,
was blown out.
Your frail little body reverberated with each deep cough,
as you sat on the outside picnic table,
Sadly, occasionally lifting your head to peer in at us.
Where were your parents/grandparents/
Your aunts/uncles/older siblings?
Why weren’t they taking care of you?
Were they, . . . out working? . . . passed out drunk?
. . . paralyzed high? . . . in abuse recovery?
. . .forever incarcerated? . . .just absent? . . .
Or . . .did they just not care,
leaving you uncovered in the cool, of the autumn drizzle,
on the outdoor picnic table.
Did they tell you, stay away, from us?
Did they tell you, not to let us, shelter you?
To not let us, cover you, with a coat, as you sat, all by yourself,
On that old beat-up, worn-out picnic table?
Occasionally staring back at us this day.
Then you ran off, again you faded into the evening night:
Where did you go?
Where do you go?
. . . Home? . . .