Eight

I am eight,
which could be a zero
contracted in the middle.

I seek diamonds and avoid death.

I have a bed.

I long for a dog
but I accept my loss.

I whistle when I'm on the toilet.

My shoes are reckless
when they leave my feet -
a family trait that counts me in.

Half of what I eat
are the sandwiches I make myself -
not bad for a person
who is not yet complete.

But incompleteness
also has its advantages:
I can still squeeze into places
where most people cannot go
and people instinctively take my hand
when I offer it.

You want to know more?

My fardel is monstrous to bear.
When my father takes it from me,
he always says, Who would fardels bear?

My mother cleans my eyes.

My trains are falling behind me.

My canary called Jack escaped last week,
and so I have left the cage door open for him.

My strawberries haven't yet learned
to ripen in the shade.

I am captivated by the local creek.

I farm and I dream
of electric sheep.
I rarely laugh,
I prefer to grin.

When I am nine
who knows how much of this will remain
and what I will have in my tin.