My Cardboard Balcony

You're There For Me by Belinda Roddie You're there for me, and I am there for you, though possibly not as much as I should. My confidence can burst like a balloon, and my self-esteem has rotted like wood after so much time and neglect. And yet, I see the way you shiver in the cold that wraps around you. I have kissed the wet salt on your face, your eyes like molten gold against your pillow. I embrace you, hope that I can bring you light and heat and joy, or, at least the very least, a chance to cope. I could be as broken as an old toy, or as deflated as a plastic bag, but I'll raise you up so we both won't sag.

"I'm thinking of running for president one day," said the nominee for Little Man mayor. The nape of her neck was damp from the humidity. A flat white cap covered her curls. "Ah," murmured the reporter who was interviewing. "Big ambitions, then." "No, no," chirped the nominee. "Big ambitions would be total world domination. Becoming president? That's a stroll in the park for me."