Invisible Friend At five she started school, determined to stand firm when bullied, not be made to gag on frog spawn or slugs. She’d thought the subject through. Her invisible friend was a dragon. So when the playground gangs began to fight and pick on her - her teeth, her walk, her hair - she’d call him up, invoke his savage bite for self-defence, pretend he’s really there. She named him Gerald, talked to him in bed when darkness threatened, told him everything. He’d listen, snuggle down; she knew his head was working on her problems. And he’d sing. St George, she felt, had made a great mistake killing the maiden’s pet. It made no sense. She kept her dragon secret, let him take no risks on her behalf beyond defence. She grew up, and forgot, as children do - his hidden life meant no one could remind her of her childhood silliness. Or laugh. On cue she fell in love (a dullish man), and blind to how imagination powers a life. His boast: I’m tough, a dragon-killer, me. Couldn’t believe she wouldn’t be his wife. And once again the dragon kept her free. D. A. Prince If you have any comments on this poem, D. A. Prince would like to hear from you.