Free.

It can be terribly fun
To go out without the sun
And shimmy the shit out of your backyard
In your stockings.

Damp feet,
fast beat
Under the clouds.
Watching the last three bats
fly over head to the valley.

And in the light of a bulb,
Notice the day’s raindops
Collect and reflect  along your clothes line
A thousand tiny stars across the lawn
Threaded as beads along a string.

And when the beat slows down
Stockings soaked by ground
to flick those beads away.
Because they deserve to be free,
Just as much as me.