"It won't roll," he said, insistent and sure,
expert in reading premonitions of failure since that day
his neon slinky didn't make it all the way down the stairs,
passed through one of the slats on the banister
to its untimely demise. "It won't, it won't."

She looked up at him then and, were she a sophisticated lady, worldly wise,
she might have wondered whether she'd always find neurotic men
so darn cute. Being 8, her own excitement imposed a temporary and selective deafness.
She continued up.

He caught wussy in his hands as it dropped from above,
not realizing it was meant for his ears.

And the zeitgeist floated down on frosted wings to whisper in his ear,
Let me explain things to you in the way of the French:
standing on the ground is gauche. Joining the party of one
on the roof is de rigueur, dig? Welcome to the world, doll.

Years later, in another country, a mother tells the story
of the Itsy Bitsy Wussy that shimmied up a drainpipe
and, sensing her maternal duty, wrings forth the scanty bit
of wisdom that, while dangerous and generally ill advised,
on occasion it is educational to witness failure in action.