She skipped fast through Mustang’s door as if to a hobby horse. Slid away in the rear seat. “I don’t like you. You’ve got mean eyebrows all pointy at the top.” Her small bird hands flew up point making then covered her mouth feathered giggles. Wide blue eyes in a small blue car. Saturday morning T.V. The Red Baron sneaks on the screen with monocled evil inverted checkmarks for eyebrows. His sour cartoon face and mine screwed tight as the lid to a pickle jar. What lurks floating dark, hidden in vinegar. Children are mirrors they tell no lies.