Riddle Me, Riddle Marie

A Lock

I didn’t know my father was a banker.
He told me he worked at a cemetery.

Every night,
my mother and I drove to Memorial Park

to pick him up at work.
While we waited,

we played Riddle Me, Riddle Marie.
I see something you don’t see, and it’s green.

I would search for something green
like a traffic light

or her shirt. When he sat down in the car,
I’d hide,

then up pops the devil
and can you add 342, 79 and 867.

He’d give me the answer
and play the piano with his fingers

while he rounded out the numbers
on an abacus.

I’d say now I know he’s right
without adding the numbers myself.

Riddle Me, Riddle Marie,
I see something you don’t see,

and it’s white.

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