It winked sporadically, of course, I knew it was winking at me.

I filled my house with twinkling plastic, a remedial action, a riposte

to the rain-sodden weeks and the sight of dim figures, faces

like waning moons in dark interiors, sheltering, wringing hands

in pulled-down sleeves. I spied those orange wheels in indigo pools,

the fat blue snout, with yellow helicopter blades and wings, among

the sodden stalls and covered chattels. Then, with a burst of nursery songs,

the blades whirled and that red neon bedazzled. I knew it was winking,

waiting for me. I bought it, bought all the potential winking lights,

filled my house, filled my life with one heck of a wink.