This poem was published in 2002 in "Chances Are...a Chrysalis Reader." Line breaks do not show up properly in this format, but each new line begins with a capital letter.

Like two dozen party favors at a giant's birthday bash
Hot air balloons rise each year over Ravenna
Buoyed on the sweet succor of September winds
And memories of the town's
Toy balloon manufacturing plant.

Sometimes, the best we can do is stay afloat,
Never knowing exactly where the currents will carry us.
Below, even the big wheels are nothing but munchkins,
Waving, as if to the Wizard of Oz
And the lost chance for a free ride home
In Auntie Em's floating wicker basket.

All those slack-mouthed faces
Watching the dotted kaleidoscope of sky.
It's like reading tea leaves,
Phoning a psychic, or wishing on a star,
This sense of wanting to get on with life,
But first, seeking a map with step-by-step directions
And satisfaction guaranteed.

Despite the whimsical circus clown name,
The "Patches" balloon doesn't split at the seams.
Once inflated, the balloons launch like so many
Cork-bottled messages,
Bobbing on the ocean of wind.

We are all of us adrift,
Babes in baskets of our own design.
Might as well enjoy the atmosphere,
While we gather courage for a change in course
At the Ravenna Balloon-A-Fair.