i am a mudpuddle in a pothole right next to your car door a hassle stepped over so coins can be tossed into the depths of the wishing well that is her

i am the middle verse of a poem written in shaky hands on yellowed parchment forgotten for the prose that slides across her teeth and lips

i am a firefly in a glass jar on the shelf battering myself against invisible walls ignored for the lightning storm forking majestically she casts across the sky