17 Rebeccas Crossing The Street Against The Light
The cappuccino wasn’t foamy enough and had to be sent back twice The cheese had not been melted properly on the panini and so they were not going to pay full price thank you The cars were approaching at a reasonable speed and they were nowhere near a crosswalk but sometimes you can’t wait There are clothes to return and servers who don’t smile enough and why would anyone even wear those shoes out of the haha I know, right house? Where is the fleet of pink Cadillacs with box plows to clean this refuse from the street? Where are the ancestors of the coyotes killed for their trendy winter parkas blood hungry and beautiful? the plucked geese (who, themselves, are entitled assholes) hissing and cold so their coats could be warm? Where are their parents who still pay their bills because the twenty-first century is too expensive for anyone under fifty whose parents are still alive? Where is my humanity in all of this? Has it refused to pay the full price of respect for someone else’s individuality because a few of their behaviors haven’t set properly? Is it wearing a parka made of teeth with bleach blonde trim? Is it running into traffic to tell the world how important it is?
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What Is This All About?This page is where the content from previous poetry blogs have been condensed. It's not on the menu, since most of these projects are over, or on hiatus, but the posts are still here to peruse. Archives
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