Most days this summer, the 15-year-old Scout
That they ominously call "The Ledge."
One day last week I suggested she skip The Ledge
And play hooky with me, instead.
We rode the motorcycle to a breakfast joint
Where the owner used to make her pancakes
In the shape of Mickey Mouse.
"Is this Scout?" he asked.
She and I talked about boyfriends and girlfriends
And whatever else she wanted to talk about.
I've rarely had so little to say.
On the way home, we took a sunny spin through Humboldt Park.
We waited at a stop sign, for a preschool class to cross.
The babies waved at us, and we waved back.