A Frozen Balloon (A Poem)

A Frozen balloon,

Wrapped around the finger,

Of a father.

A petrified prod,

Of an innocent one.

Don’t worry,

It won’t harm you.

But you never know,

The next gentle push says.

The balloon nods,

Agreeing to the uncertainty of its nature,

The right to be concerned.

How many pokes will its inflated patience accept?

It’s Buckaroo,

The balloon,

Because it will blow,

Not away,

But up,

One day.


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Published by Gavin Whyte

I am the author of the modern-day fables The Girl with the Green-Tinted Hair, and Happiness & Honey, plus several other works of fiction.

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