The Alone-Child, Age Eight

Squeaky wheels, squeaky wheels, the tricycle inches forward toward the white house with white pillars. Squeaky wheels, squeaky wheels, the alone-child pedals with all his might up the incline, over the cracked, broken sidewalk, down the curb, bump. The alone-child heaves his trike over the opposite curb, plop. He straightens the wheels and pedals faster. There at the end of the block stands the white house with its white pillars. The white house is very quiet. Shh, it says to him. He turns his trike around. Shh, he says to it. The alone-child turns his head and stares down the alley - it is empty! He pedals faster and the wheels squeak. Ha, Ha. It doesn't matter. He can stop at his telephone pole and check his trove. Squeaky wheels, squeaky wheels, go faster. There are no bullies today. Squeaky wheels, squeaky wheels, have fun! Childhood