Almost Dorothy Is Not Dreaming

This morning I woke up in a debris field. Fragments of my imagination scattered all about. I ran and ran and ran to my BFF Squinny’s house and Squinny’s house was gone. I ran back to my house and my house was gone. I ran down the street toward North Miami Avenue and North Miami Avenue was gone. Only the impression of an avenue remained like the footprint of an Ibis on the wet part of the beach. I ran back toward Biscayne Bay and Biscayne Bay was gone except for a boat and two fish. I ran nowhere and everywhere was gone. Meteorites skimmed skyscrapers and the world was on red alert. Squinny is dead, mom said. She said Squinny was dead. I know, I said. I know. Then I went back to bed.