Flowered Rain Boots

Flowered Rain Boots
-After Tricia’s Poem
 
It’ll grow tall,
he always told them
as they leaned their cherry cheeks
over emerald bushes.
Their eyes narrowing to slits.
Mitted hands and flowered rain boots
kick at puddles, brush the boughs,
throwing slush into the air.
It won’t grow,
he knows it’s true.
 
It’ll put a dent in your ceiling,
he always crossed his heart with ripped gloves
as they tilted their necks
only to find the cone-needle backside.
To this they stomped their feet.
Dwarf earmuffs are pulled out of an onyx purse,
as mittens find something sweet.
Teeth crunch, feet mimic parents’.
It won’t even hold lights,
he knows this.
 
It’ll enchant your dreams,
it’ll make every wish come true,
it’ll die, once placed in water.
 
And here I am,
in his lot after years
of hating his trees.
After years of watching
my parents hand over cash
that he swallowed whole,
and making sure that he licked
the coins from their fingers.
Snapping my coat to the last button,
my flowered rain boots
hit the first puddle before
the car door can shut.