Supposing I went up there,
To his room,
There’s a bar, which meets the bank.
There’s three women mixing in hem-lengths,
Looking for a jettison who’ll speak.
Betty called Saturday. She was looking
Me to her: “He’s far.”
What should I tell them
These grandparents, aunts who
Should I share about the garage?
Parts by the hood:
Lost wax casting, turnbine compressors,
Yellow ignition coils, green tie rods,
And center links.
“Knarled hands are what holds families,” –your Dad, Opening Day.
Fire me. I’m just the laundry.
I’m a basket for follow-through.
I speak, but you’re pointing at her divan.
Her petal cheeks are the one you own.
Kiss my highbrows, make my ribs pink.
They’re so blue-
They should see the difference.
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