Pass The Ketchup Please Poem by Cheryl Lynn Moyer Peele

I'm staring at the ketchup
but I've lost the words.
'Mon amis' I must leave again.
The razor sharp scent of
'La content voyage s'appelle moi'
(This happy voyage is calling me) .

I'm diving into the luscious pervasive smell
of dancing in rain puddles.
'Avec tu, avec tout le monde, tout ou.'
(With you, with everyone, everywhere.)

I am wearing only a bright yellow raincoat
and a warm gentle smile.
Someone forgot my clothes
to lay across the puddles.

When the popsicle is gone
the stick burns my tognue.
But the cherry taste remains in my head
where my grandmother is calling me
'Cherry Pie, where is your babushka? '
It will protect me from this sunshine.
'Le soleil voler moi vide.'
(The sun steals my emptiness.)

For me the dark is a warm womb
about my fetal hands and miniature feet.
I play hopscotch with the chalk in my mouth
or is it in my hand and the hungry sea
sends it's tongue to chase my feet.
The seagulls yell their warning,
'Un nageur c'est ne la roche pas.'
(A swimmer is not a rock.)

I'm flying a newspaper on a stick with string.
My father glued it together with dreams
so that my feet won't touch the ground
but human hands have reached up
and tickled my toes.
'Je reviens a' moi.'
(I return to my consciousness.)

'Will someone pass the ketchup please? '