Learning to Jump Rope
A whale will not sing for your rescue.
A porpoise will not swim by your side.
You are where you don’t belong.
You must not be alone.
Your wrists will begin to ache
at a quarter to three,
your mouth be dry as the sawdust
that fills the guts of your Babydoll.
You must know you are not
in hot water,
though at eight your mother
will draw your bath and rub aloe
into your pinked skin and promise
to put away that jumprope
for another day.
Kids can be so mean.
Write a poem of your own based on Lisa’s image “Jumprope, Pink Room,” or choose a line from Maureen’s poem as a starting place. Post on your blog and link to us (we love that), or just drop your poems here in the comment box.
See the first Image-ine Poetry post in this series.
See the second Image-ine Poetry post in this series.
See the third Image-ine Poetry post in this series.
See the fourth Image-ine Poetry post in this series.