I would call her rubber legs.

Her call an undistinguishable mix between No and More.

If only the world were so amused by scraps of paper.

The house is empty the house is full, she knows nothing.

She is in the closet, waiting for the toilet to flush,

to go for a dip, splash the filthy water at the door.

When she turns her head until is touches her back, that is clean, no other.

She is on mental leave, watching movement in the yard.

At five, she will circle big cat legs, zig zagging

out of the way, to escape being crushed.