Empty popcorn tubs wedged into tire tracks
and elephant footprints,
and the children waited on the edge of the field.
They eyed the crushed grass
and waited for the magic to manifest
into tall striped tents and girls twirling on trapezes.
The ghosts of clown cars
haunted the puffs of exhaust smoke,
and the children’s faces lit up in spotlights
as they scoured for the ringleader
with his circle of zebras.
One of the little girls pulled out a poster
from the garbage can,
and tried to smooth out the hours
of crinkled clean up.
She pointed at the tightrope walker
and balanced on a shadow of a nearby telephone pole.
Teetered back and forth on the asphalt cracks,
while her friends started shouting out new ideas
from their megaphone mouths.
They all wanted to be lions
crashing over the field and tear up the loose tubs
like loose childhood gazelles.
The little girl remained on her tight rope
and felt herself grow taller in each step,
but she paused to look back at the group
roaring and tumbling over garbage and mud
and she knew her childhood had left with the circus.
Poetic Trials 
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