I think of those we love the most, recall
their playing here four decades apart –
as she and I sit at a picnic table
to finish her ice cream then rehearse
our vaudeville act. ‘I say, I say, I say,’
she declares, with barely a lisp or
hesitation, ‘my dog has no nose!’
‘Your dog has no nose! How does he smell?’ I ask.
‘Terrible!’ she says, and runs to the swings.
She can swing herself now,