There was once a girl named Kayla.

She grew up on a plot of land
Adjoining a chocolate milk river.
Tales of the river’s filth were only folklore;
She never once desired a dip of the toe.

Along its bank wove a shady trail,
The one in which she would have
Committed her rebellious teenage deeds
If she were to have thought it necessary.

It was a neighborhood of modest size,
One that yielded a half a pillowcase
At most on Halloween.

She remembers the backyard of
Dandylions lasting an entire season,
And her biggest worry was whether or not
Her favourite coloured cup
Was in the cupboard, clean.