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He looks like bad news

Is what my mom said when he yelled out the car window.
He looks like very, very bad news, she said and I did the sign of the cross
And blessed his children who kicked the dog down the street,
Who cursed when they were told to leave,
Who left, and one apologized
And one is full of anger/grieving.
And yet when we drive past the house down the street there she is,
The sad sad girl who’s lost her mother,
Organizing the leaves into piles according to her thoughts and
Organizing her truths from herself.
She shaved half her head and the other half’s blue,
And her mother adores her still, and her mother loves her very much,
She is loved
He lays in bed and the blankets cover him completely and
His father is screaming and he looks like bad news.
I had this idea

What if wasps sting everything they land on, and we are so absorbed in
Our own skin that we only feel them when they sting us.
Some people say that wasp stings keep the heart healthy.
His heart is dead.
Hers is a slow bloom.




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