Fresh eyes
French fries

I am pissed off today.

The pangs first tickle
like a suppressed sneeze.
Then it ruptures, tumbles and falls,
saturating
like a piano falling down a staircase

They've not allowed us to learn to deal with our anger,
a hot potato, we throw up and up and up
eventually our palms are red with blisters
burned by our own vexations

Limerick

There once was a girl who made a blog

Her scrambled mind she hoped to unclog

But when she'd get home

She'd never write a poem

So she shrugs and says she's a pollywog

Truth

Cotton nipple

Cardinal sins

The cardinal repeatedly flies into our window,
she thinks she sees a mate.

We think she's brain dead.

My first day

Her mother had secretly thrown away the letters that her True Love had sent, she told me. He was a sailor. On the other side of the phone, the Minnesota white snow surrounded me with the bright blandness of white rice. She was in Rhode Island, where I'd like to imagine the sky being bluer and where "R"s fall off at the end of each word. She paused to catch her breath. I could hear a suppressed sob in the back of her throat. After she'd married someone else ("a real jerk"), her True Love showed up at her "front doah" and asked her to run away with him to Muskegon, Michigan. I don't remember why she didn't go, but she said she never saw him again. "I'd much prefah the Midwest dry cold to this. It's damp and get into yah bones."