Prairie Poetry   
  Midnight in Pierpont, South Dakota

He woke up alone in the house,
pulled his parka over his flannel pajamas,
rubber boots on his bare feet,
three knit hats on his blond head.
 It was twenty below. He was six years old.

He walked to the church where
she was supposed to be rehearsing. 
He walked to his grandparents’ house,
back to his house, still empty.
He got the dog, kept looking.

He found her in the heat of the bar,
having her version of a good time. 
“But I wore all my hats!” he cried
when she scolded him for going out,
tears thawing on his frozen cheeks.

  Karen G. Berry
  Copyright © 2007 Karen G. Berry
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