The first 9 stretch out from the wand
Each one, plum sized, quivering gently
Propelled on a gentle mid-June breeze
moving randomly across suburban scenery
I take my time with the next blow
A pair of oranges, rainbow smeared
each one holding a reflected me
One glides away, doomed from the start
the other, disappears against a cotton sleeve
Blowing as if flickering a candle flame
I produce 28 gooseberries that saunter off like bees
Some mark the bark, some glisten the leaves
and the last few assail and escape over the trees
I try out my next trick and conjure 2 apples
fused as a conjoined twin
This double-bubble hovers and shimmers
waiting for me, but it’s a booby trapped globe, exploding
causing shrieks of glee
I contemplate producing a grapefruit
When a tug on my arm, small outstretched hand
other resting on a hip, disarms me begrudgingly
I hand over the bottle with a sheepish grin
and the soapy coated, orange plastic, dipping stick.