Year of writing 100. 10/30

4/10/12

100!

10/30

On the carousel that day,
she could not decide between
the unicorn or the frog.
One, standing stiff-necked,
left leg cocked in a false march.
Its saddle festooned with red beads,
mane full of ribbons and glitter.
The other, oblate and knotty -
paint chipped and peeling.
One sad eye the only handle.
She hesitated at the proud beast,
stroked its bright flank,
then slid onto the back of
its squat neighbor, like an easeful
coat.  She whispered low words,
her cheek pressed against its
faded green head. It must have sounded
like music, for they danced and spun,
those two, like mythical creatures.