the blue eyed plastic doll

you ran away from
home once
when you were nine.
you made it all
the ways
to the five and ten
up the street
where you spent
the afternoon
reading comic
books at the counter,
drinking
cherry cokes. when
you ran out of nickels
and dimes,
you got hungry,
and went home.
you forgave your
mother for yelling
at you for teasing
your sister
and cutting her plastic
doll in half
with a box saw.
there was just
something about those
cold blue eyes.