Thirsty Poem

We walked
and we were thirsty.

We played kickball
and we were thirsty.

It was
the middle of July.

Thirsty, thirsty, thirsty.

And then
a girl stood
by the kickball fence
with a bag.

And she reached
in the bag, and pulled out
two giant bottles
of cold water.

And someone we knew
knew her.

Jessy Randall

If you've any comments on this poem, Jessy Randall would be pleased to hear from you.