squonkhunter

When I was six or seven, (Who can remember their age?) I was enrolled in an art class With other kids that age. We were painting from a photograph A dog and cat at rest in a field of flowers And Crayola-green grass. When my parents came together To pick me up (they were married then), I showed them my project, beaming: Look, look what I made, And their smiles said they were proud. “It’s missing something,” said Dad, “You need a signature.” “You need to write your name,” said Mom, And interpreting them as I did, I took the broadest brush, And in proud pink letters wrote “Paula” with a capi