Coloring, exclaiming of Mickey,
identical blonde hair to her nearby sisters,
the cotton leggings of girlhood,
she sits with legs askew in the unlearned
way of children.
But her boots belie her position.
Bright sunshine yellow,
securing the center around which
the waiting room revolves.
I sense the sublime; she carries the potential.
Does she feel the weight?
I seek ways to imbue them with magic.
Perfect shine providing protection from
snow, sleet, and society alike.
But my incantations are too late.
Scratches here and there
catch the fluorescent light.
Yet, the rubber still reflects
casting a halo of joy,
their armor unencumbered
by adult perceptions, opinions
With gratitude to a newfound star,
I rise and leave.