The Yellow Balloon Who Went Visiting

A child had a balloon,
a bright yellow one,
as round as a dumpling,
as warm as the sun.

It tugged at its ribbon
with wiggles and twitches,
then slipped from two fingers
and flew over ditches.

“Come back!” cried the child.
But the balloon gave a bob,
a wobble, a wibble,
a loopety-lob.

It bumped past the windows
of Winkleman’s Shoes,
then peeked at a rack
of red mittens and blues.

It bounced by the deli
where mustard jars gleamed,
where pickles sat puckered
and sandwich bread steamed.

It drifted past cones
at the ice-cream shop door,
where strawberry dripped
on a checkerboard floor.

Then—boop!—by the barber,
it paused in the air,
and tickled the tip
of his silver-white hair.

“Well, well,” said the barber.
“You’re missing a face.
A balloon with no eyeballs
looks lost in this place.”

So he took out a marker
and gave it two eyes,
two round little lookers
of curious size.

“Go on, little yellow.
Go see what you see.”
And off bobbed the balloon
with a blink and a whee.

It swayed by the bakery,
slooped past the bank,
then bonked on a mailbox
with one gentle clank.

A painter named Millie
looked up from her stool.
“You’ve eyes but no smile?
Well, that isn’t the rule.”

She drew it a grin
with a swoop and a curl,
a smile like a crescent,
a moon made of pearl.

“Now there,” Millie whispered.
“You’re ready to roam.
But cheerful balloons
should be finding their home.”

The balloon heard the word
and it fluttered quite still,
then turned with a shimmy
and rose by the hill.

Past pickle jars,
past mittens, past shoes,
past ice cream and windows
and afternoon news.

It bobbled and woggled,
then zippled along,
as if its own ribbon
remembered a song.

And there by the fountain,
with tears nearly done,
stood the child who had lost
the bright yellow one.

The balloon dipped down softly,
not fast and not wild,
and placed its blue ribbon
right back in the child.

The child gave a gasp.
The balloon gave a grin.
Its two little eyes
seemed to sparkle within.

Then home they went walking,
the two hand in string,
with a bounce in the sidewalk
and a sky-colored ring.

For sometimes what wanders
does not wander wrong—
it may only be learning
the way back along.