Sitting on her suitcase

Waiting

In a near empty street

The other kids

The teachers

And the coach

Went  home

Long ago

Seven years old

Small and pale

A dreamy little oddball

With long red hair

It needs a wash

Like she does

Everybody else

Is at home having tea

She is still waiting

None will come

They often forget her

With a sigh

She gets up

Dragging the case

Down the hill

They are all surprised

When she arrives

She cries

They call her a little drama queen

She takes the case upstairs

And keeps the baggage in her head for fifty years

She is my ghost

And I am hers

We haunt each other