Lonely Bubble

The boy pulls my arm

Look at this bubble!

He cries, and sighs

In delight.

It sits, unharmed, on the rainy tarmac

Wet and round and glossy

A perfect hemisphere

A ghostly fried egg imitator

A final resting place

With no predicted pop.

It flew, for sure, it flew with friends

Around the stage we haunt

And shop fronts

Lights

Hotdog candy floss popcorn dream

They flew together

Then one by one

Pop, pop, pop

Yet this one hung on

Though its time to fly

Had passed.

Lonely bubble lies

On the greasy tarmac

We watched for a while,

Puzzled and oddly sorrowful

Until something else delightful

Caught my baby’s eye.