Rory's Arm Hurts

We’re stomping through the street on a mission
I don’t know what sort of a mission
possibly on the hunt for Christmas decorations
— Operation Decoration
find some sparkly stuff
and then traipse back to the bus shack
to hitch a lift home

and we’re by the big tower huge tower
‘skyscraper’ they call it — scrapes the sky
like some massive concrete fingernail
and I notice Rory is holding his arm
huffing
clutching his elbow and huffing
“Oo.” he says
“Oo.”

Puzzled, I ask, “What’s up bud?”
and he squints his eyes up at the skies
and he goes “I hurt my arm.”

“Well, how did you do that?” I ask
“Counting the clouds.” he says

“Counting the clouds?”
“COUNTING THE CLOUDS.”

“Did you? Did you really?” I ask

​“There’s eight clouds.” he says
“one two three four six seven eight”

“That’s only seven.” says his sister
“You’ve counted them wrong.”
“No I haven’t.”
“Yes you have.”
“No… I haven’t, Ruby.”
“Yes you have, Rory. Where’s five?” she says.

“It’s gone.” he says

“There was one two three four five six seven eight
and then it went
and now there’s one two three four six seven eight.”

We all squint our eyes at the skies
his arm aching
our heads aching
then, creeping out from behind the skyscraper
pops another cloud

​“Oh! HALLO FIVE!” he yells.

Thom Boulton ​© 2022