She is sixteen on the sixteenth. Her golden birthday. Her father and I now snooze downstairs. We wait for her to get up for school. None of us are really morning people. I am watching the balloons. I think single digit birthday balloons are a lot clearer, or perhaps double digit same number ones...
Sixteen
or sixty-one?
The gold mylar balloons out front
Can*t make up their numbered minds.
They are tethered
To the only sign we could find
In the party store
That made sense:
It*s a Girl!
That*s a certainty.
If only the gold balloons
Would make up
Their numbered minds
In the morning breeze.
I imagine they will switch back and forth
All day.
