I was sitting in the car while my dad was driving and we were just talking. He said that, the previous night, he had seen a shooting star, but didn't both wishing on it because that would be "ridiculously ignorant". I, being a poet, launched into a cliche explanation that a shooting star isn't just a wish, or a dream, it's a hopeful type of ignorance. To this, he responded, "It's just space trash". I decided to write a depressing poem from this, just as I do with most things in my life. I hope that this poem captures the lost ignorance and innocence of a wishing well, a shooting star, a rabbits foot, a clover, and dandelion, and all of the other wishing spells we cast when we are children.