Saturdays are traced fingers through dried 
Child-polished wood grain 
And peeled fruit 
On tabletops
Found paths around the others
Pulled blades of grass tufted from under a rain soaked blanket
Your smiling cheeks placed on the ground to see under a flower
The chicken suit you demanded worn just one more time.

Yes
You lose me every Saturday
In mud pies.

You turn me forward 
And smile
Pull on your boots
Pull on your sleeves
Pull me out for the morning
Place me in the sun.

Hold me down for a little while
At your level to sell me some vegetables
I'll pay you something sweet 
Jo
Bean