The roof is leaking.
Great, fat drips of water
plummet into the rug and
splash against the tile floor.
Jodie screeches “more, more!”
She stands above the house with
a bowl of water and pours. A
little at a time through a hole she
asked her daddy to drill into the
pink plastic. The little doll’s legs
are soaked as they lie unbending,
helpless. If they were human they
would have turned blue. Maybe
one day Jodie will paint them.
Once, she dropped an ice cube
from the roof. It landed on the
doll’s head and fell on her baby,
knocking him sideways and there
he stays. Jodie named her dolls
Mummy and Brother Bobby.
Her mother sits singing baby Bobby
to sleep in the next room. Jodie
doesn’t have a daddy doll. Daddy
is working. Daddy is always working.
Mummy is always with Bobby. So
Jodie pours and pours.
