Olivia Todd

Here I lie
crumpled and discarded
on a bed of green blades.
My sticky insides glued together.

In the hands of a child,
I’d be a water balloon.
Darting through a maze of trees,
yelping and panting and thrusting towards
shadows they can crouch in, waiting to pounce.

No one knows I’m here.

No one knows she’s over there.

Only him.