Skip to My Lou

I followed that broken wooden path,
like I had when I was a small girl.

A bright yellow balloon,
pristine bobby socks,
and perfect bouncing curls,
as I skipped the trail.

My how things have gone awry.

Somehow the balloon had come undone,
and floated toward the grey bleached sky.

Clouds thundered above,
sprinkling my coiffed curls with acid like droplets.

My bobby's became black with muck.

This was not the friendly childhood memory I was hoping,
but persistence pursued.

I needed to know what preceded me, at the end of this journey.

My skip became a limp, as the wooden boards splintered and cracked beneath me.

The trail lead on and on.

Hope was lost on me,
but I continued on,
no longer the adolescent dream I clung too.