Tiny Dragon

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A tiny dragon
a figure made by chance,
my yellow and green eraser shavings
scattered upon the scarred, sticky black surface
of my chemistry lab table
as I swept my mistake from a sheet of paper.
A petite winged lizard,
a useless fragment of burned-out rubber,
so delicate in every way,
barely there, miniscule,
quite unlike the fearsome,
fire-breathing beasts
I once heard of in a childhood tale.
“Are you real, little dragon?” I say.
My breath rushes across the small body,
envelops it,
and breaks it into crumbs.
My tiny dragon,
flying away.





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