The Hammock

Gigel frolics around the yard.
He’s not a child,
but Agent 06.
His age is the reverse of the number above,
just like the house number on the gatepost.

He hopes for a quick nap in the hammock,
calming the ideas that took him wandering
through meadows and village fairs.
The heat weighs him down and nudges him;
otherwise, his mother can’t explain
his sudden landing in the grass
without some ancestral parachute.
The sound of his fall
brought everyone at the table to their feet.
Branches broke heavily from the plum tree.
They crashed down
along with the would-be napper.

“I’m fine!” Gigel assures the spectators,
as he gathers himself,
with his hands,
off the ground.

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