Almost Perfect Day
I lollygag as much as I can
As I travel from meadow to prairie
Grandma packs me a lunch
Knowing she will not see me for hours
It is 1960. She is not frightened I will be found dead
Kidnappers only go after the Lindbergh baby.
I reach a fence and sit down,
open my grandpa’s secondary black lunch box.
Pull out the water and take a big swig.
It is lukewarm, but it is okay today.
I am eight; not picky, just glad to be alive.
Grasshoppers, and a ladybug call my name.
My identical twin sister is back at the house
Pleasing grandma, cooking, cleaning, baking.
Doing all the things girls not like me like to do.
I am irritated that I was not born a boy.
I am a pirate, a pilot, a race car driver.
I am so damned mad to be an eight-year-old-girl.
Boys are allowed to yell out the answers. Damn it!
Eat the sandwich a voice urges me.
I really want to, but it’s early so I just take a pinch of it.
Peanut butter and jelly. Maybe another tiny bite.
I polish it off and stare at the apple.
I was irritated when grandma made me take it.
Now I’m rethinking that.
I hop the fence and get pricked on the barbed wire.
This is irritating! Maybe I should have listened to grandpa’s advice.
Never go over the fence. But I am there now.
I follow a well-worn path to a little brook.
Take off my shoes and socks, wade around.
It is so cold and delightful. There are tiny things swimming.
I strain my eyes but have no idea what they are.
A weird cough. I look up to see the flash of a white tail deer.
Almost perfect day. More perfect if I had been a boy.
Copyright © Caren Krutsinger | Year Posted 2021
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