They bought my red Radio Flyer wagon brand new.
I was the #1 kid in the house, carted off and pulled around by everyone;
I was the queen. My parents and young uncles were the chauffeurs.

I wish I could remember being
the tiny queen during Watergate.
I don’t remember Watergate at all---

My Radio Flyer circa the Seventies
often had dolls and my favorite Golden books in it,
waiting patiently for its next ride.

Rides I do remember: I became the chauffeur
in the late ‘70s-early ‘80s. Cousin Mandy,
my sister Devon and baby brother DJ demanded rides.
The wagon was outside, starting to warp and showing wear,
always either dirty or wet; we didn’t care.

Being #1 daughter/granddaughter slowly became a drag.
I was the responsible one, the narc, the guinea pig,
no longer the queen---the kiddos were running the show,
often running away. Radio Flyer practically flew
upon the ground as they raced down the hill.

I wished I could fly away—
queen-sized,
dragged around in the Flyer,
feeling free again.