NATIONAL POETRY DAY: Day 14

He said a group of kites
is called a mockery

laughing at the way
I chase my string 

through Central Park
on our staycation. 

The little boy whose
Spiderman kite resembles mine

but fits in his tiny hands
so that the string bounces

off his lifeline and across
the picnic blankets.

We grabbed the sheets
off our bed, soiled 

in soil, before laundry
day. Speaking 

only in British accents 
like we could be other people.