By Hannah Gerber

Give me the booger.

Please don’t run away with it.

It is not a chunk of gold,

nor a game to be played;

me chasing you,

the dog nipping our heels.

It’s a booger and I must insist

you give it to me.

We can trade it in

like a sticky golden ticket

for a fortune cookie

I found in my bag,

or the dinosaur

revealed in a sandbox

that you unearthed

with your little

archeologists hands.