Three boys squabbled in whispers
across the blue plastic table. At the next
table sat all the counselors but me.
They permitted only adults to speak
during lunch. Mercy sensed the boys’ voices
about to overflow our perimeter,
whispered, “You be the three Free Willies,
and I’ll be the water.” She dropped
her upper half on the table, arms outstretched,
and flopped in gentle waves.