standing upright, in perfect rows,
suggested serving size of two,
fig newton cleared his throat and spoke
to cellophane and plastic sheet
i’d rather be most anything
than fruit and cake in packaging.
a short preface: i hate math. math hates me. i took algebra II twice in high school, not because i failed it the first time, but because i refused to take a higher level math afterwards. i can swing simple on-the-fly arithmetic if it involves sports, but that’s usually situational and a sign that i’ve memorized potential outcomes based on now-decades of following scores and statistics.
so i do not write this piece as one unbiased against math. i recognize the need for it and respect it in theory, much like i respect distance running but will never ever try it, but i do not and will not like math. Continue reading
her pleas fell unanswered for days-almost-weeks,
muffled distorted splintered and caught in the curtains
she refused patience,
i am here here i am.
i will never again be heard.
before shaking her head
and laughing at herself
at her flickering doubt.
weary of protesting,
she simply rose and crossed the room
and drew the curtains open.
the rain stopped.
steam rose from the sidewalk
daisies shielded yellow eyes
clouds and curtains melted from her sight.