Because I had
accidentally
let go of
my own blue one,
I deliberately
let go of
the red one
I was bringing home
from the carnival
to my brother.
How many years ago
was it?
And why can I still see,
every now and then,
that red balloon
rising, rising . . .
Robert Harlow resides in upstate NY. He is the author of Places Near and Far (Louisiana Literature) and has poems in Poetry Northwest, RHINO Poetry, Tar River, Slipstream, and elsewhere. Or so he has been led to believe.
