The Fury Of Overshoes

They sit in a row

outside the kindergarten,

black, red, brown, all

with those brass buckles.

Remember when you couldn't

buckle your own

overshoe

or tie your own

overshoe

or tie your own shoe

or cut your own meat

and the tears

running down like mud

because you fell off your

tricycle?

Remember, big fish,

when you couldn't swim

and simply slipped under

like a stone frog?

The world wasn't

yours.

It belonged to

the big people.

Under your bed

sat the wolf

and he made a shadow

when cars passed by

at night.

They made you give up

your nightlight

and your teddy

and your thumb.

Oh overshoes,

don't you

remember me,

pushing you up and down

in the winter snow?

Oh thumb,

I want a drink,

it is dark,

where are the big people,

when will I get there,

taking giant steps

all day,

each day

and thinking

nothing of it?