They are not fooling anyone with those Lone Ranger Masks, a
disguise as thin as Clarke Kent’s glasses.
But they are SUPER with their hands. Opening garbage cans, unwrapping tender fish guts
– believe me you don’t know the half.
My watch was drying outside on the picnic table, after
falling haphazardly into the lemonade.
The one that must have been the mom took it apart with her tiny nimble
fingers, smelling it and licking the acrid sweetness off its dials and leather
band. It keeps time so much better than
it used to. The swish swish of the minute
hand is now barely audible yet comforts me while I toil away on spreadsheets
and in endless meetings.
It’s only the 9-5 that keeps them out of Architecture or
shoe repair. Baking would be a breeze
if they could resist slinking away to the dark recesses of the building with all
the chocolate.
