The story of a girlwho can be foundscribblingon scraps of art paper,curledagainst the chill of the open window& the songs of birds,surrounded by those lying aloudwho should be dreaming.She steeps, readies her words.The boywho creaked down stairsto empty his bladderwonderingwhich was sadder, his nightmareor his parents lying awakeback to backwhile birds cracked onand on as ifthere was no where out there.The wonderof engines raced beyond exhaust,garbage trucks, reverse beeps,laps round the blockas though everyone’s lost,fatiguedfrom endless counting sheep.Line them upagainst the chock& jump the errant sun.
Kerry inspires the Real Toads to write preludes inspired by T.S. Eliot.