My hair would be
standing out long
in all directions.
Rolling Rock
bottles like dead
men at my feet.
She would be
cleaning, organizing,
whirling in all
directions.
I'd be watching
the television
not listening,
thinking about
the things I wanted
to say eternal.
I want a house,
I want babies,
I want to make
a difference in
peoples lives,
she'd say.
I'd nod,
and scratch
and smoke a butt.
I just wanted
to write a
decent poem.
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