Jenny's Fall by Philip Burton

If she fell outside somewhere
and raked her knee
she’d get back up tearfully
find her mother and me
and show us what she’d done.
Nothing faked.
It had to be the real event.
She’d never just tell you.

She’d rather dent.
She’d look you in the face
and, if not prevented,
well, large as life,
with no regard for pain,
she’d throw herself down,
and graze herself again
in the very same place
but on the other knee.

And she’d say,
That’s what I did, Dad.
Honestly.
That’s what I did, Mum.
Honestly.
Then she’d brush herself off
and, instantly
run off and play.