Blue. Sky. The kite. The yellow one is mine.
String has petered out like the call of her.
My mom. Sis is bored easily. Mom says,
“Girls do not come with sky. They must win it.”
Kite is mine. The short-term king of the blue.
Rooftop and concrete float under young feet.
The rival king is coming in this sky.
The red one. From that neighborhood lean boy.
“It is better.” Sis does not know the things.
Fight red kite. This sky is mine. You move on.
Unseen string versus string. Will versus will.
“Brother!” Why is she so nervous? “Look out.”
Perilous edge of roof that I never see.
Of course sky is mine. Blue. Deep. Floating…