Monday, February 15, 2010


Put down that glass of wine
and open your mouth
when you screech like
a twelve year old girl.

The iron is still hot,
the yawning paused,
you've awakened for
a midnight cracker snack.

Shiny magenta threads
embedded in green pile
carpeting are not answers,
they are distractions.

Sewing circles into cloth
will not erase the words
that make your belly tumble
with preteen emotions. 

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