There she is,
lying on the sidewalk
as if the artist has left her

there for passers-by
like me, her cherry cheeks
beaming, her purple hair

streaming into—is that
aqua?—so colorful,
so fashionable down

to her fuchsia shoes.
What I like best are her
extended arms—her

here I am, world
stance, right there on
the boulevard.

And while tempted
to pick up this masterpiece
and take it with me,

I leave it where it lies,
anchored by a couple
of oak-flung acorns,

imagining who might
find it next,
a what’s this? smile

creeping across their face,
as the budding artist peeks
from behind the old oak

and giggles.