mmmcmxiii

A Day in the Life
of Dot the Dewdrop

Dot the Dewdrop
was always slickening up
the Yellow Brick Road.

She’d take her sweet time
of a morning to evaporate
for the day, checking out

the cabbage patch for any
extra drops stuck within
the skins of each cabbage

for which she could bump
and combine. She’d stop,
to smell, or whet her

appetite, really, at the
wonderful wisteria and
the glistening marigolds,

rolling herself up and
down blooms just to get
a sniff-taste of their

various deliciousnesses.
She’d wave at everyone
as she passed Mountain

Town and Plymouth Rock,
only she really didn’t have
the nuts and bolts to wave

or even lift a finger, so her
attempts came out more
like icicled baby’s breath

or glub-glubs. The town
folk new it was Dot,
recognizing the sound

from the previous
morning, and the
morning before that,

so each said hello in
their own way. Dot’s
goal was always to make

it all the way to the Ivory 

Tower that stood tall and 

gleaming just beyond the

summer squash garden.
But, alas, she could
never even make

it to the squash,
for just this side
of the yellow-orange

paradise she’d inch
her way toward each
and every morning,

just like this one (and 

this is the tragedy that
befalls all poor

dewdrops, their
memory being
worse than that

of a goldfish), she’d
roll right into the
Suckin’ Muck Swamp,

having forgotten of
its very existence.
And that swamp

would suck Dot
the Dewdrop
right down into

a void, a tasteless 

state of non-existence
for dewdrops,

basically. But,
just after midnight
each night, just as

the bells could be
heard tolling
from the Ivory

Tower in the
distance, that
swamp would

burp Dot the
Dewdrop right
out, all the way

back up to the
fork in the Yellow
Brick Road where

she’d regain con
sciousness, and once 

again she’d giddily be

gin her daily roll
down the gold
and gleaming

road. And, like
the morning
before, Dot was

the happiest little
drop of moisture
in all of Kansas.