Bright red balloon,
still helium filled,
a real lively, airy ball,
a party girl to the core,
brighten any scene,
last seen caught in the
lower branches of a dead tree
by the train tracks just
South of Poughkeepsie.

How did this come to be?

A popped balloon, draped
limp like a used condom
over a tree limb,
that, I get.
But down in the dirt,
snagged by its own tail
in the windy corridors
of the Am Track tracks?

How fickle the wind and the high life!
Whose unpredictable breath
blew that balloon to its death?
In a balloons strange fate,
is there intention and hate?