I am barely eleven,
leaning against the brown van,
parked across from
our alley house.
Eli and I are eating ice cream,
I think, from a truck,
each holding dwarf dogs
confused always as puppies.
I am wearing my sister’s dress,
homemade, with large pockets.
I can barely hold both
the dog and the ice cream.
Eli is laughing.
I think, I am too.
8-25-99
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