Child Shrieking Over a Burst Balloon

Oh, do not call it immature.
Call it only unprotected —
the buffers that you and I survive by
not yet reasoned, for him,
into their right suave places.

Five scraps of blue —
five flags pleading mercy —
dot the sand between carousel and rail.
With each shocked howl,
the scene reacquaints us.
Is there relief? The vendor!
We grope our pockets for change.

Let the teenagers chuckle,
the woman scowl and sigh.
All their wisdoms will break us later.
For now, stop with this: the coins thrust
and the trembling hand reaching,
blue bobbing on string,
the meek air inside it shaming
every brutal sharp thing.