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Roasted

Patterned lives like cooking recipes
That Mom went all the way to the deli
To satisfy

And Grandma says the roast doesn’t taste quite right
And sometimes
They forget you excused yourself twenty three minutes ago

You hate the way you identify with
That trash Quinn listens to on the radio
And those ugly boots you bought that everyone hates

But you like the wrinkled noses

And there’s always hours of dishes to do
Even though you didn’t eat anything—
Not like Quinn

Who throws up after
On the white floors Grandma just paid to get retiled
Sparkling white squares that she just soils

Like everything else

Humans are social creatures
So what does that make you?
Gremlin, goblin, creature of the night

Like vampires they suck you dry
Of all ambition or emotion

Everything butchered on that tiled floor
Just like Quinn’s dinner.



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