Blue Spine

The blue shirt with a stiff plastic back

lands under the front row, which is still

wet from the chlorine splashes of dolphins.

I’ll be a hero today, find the shirt’s owner.

High in the bleachers, a girl

too injured to grow up early,

walks with her plastic cane.

Her mother thanks me.

They both wear pale blue,

and the bunting flutters the turrets.

There is no wooden rollercoaster

no chlorine under my bare feet either

when I stumble to the kitchen

turn on the oven light

contemplate the toilet and the

boom of the waves and

my next decision:

sleep, or ride out the night wondering.