I put olives on my finger tips—and made grapes of brine.

I counted street lamps like beads of a rosary—on the cold walk home.

I drew with magic markers on the wall—and a dark forest grew.

I touched the ogre rock in the park—to ward off death another day.

I stared at the boiled egg in my lunch pail—and cured the hunger.

Caught in the mayhem of dodge­ball day—I van­ished altogether.

But I couldn’t stop them making com­ments about me.

Though I kept very still and didn’t say a word.