.1. Grey which shines
like the light
of a thousand stars.
The stress of schoolwork
spreads through my veins
like a rollercoaster,
the classroom a carnival.
A ceramic dog resting
atop the microwave.
Say hello.
His name is Gerald.
He watches over us.
A minor god the only thing
getting us through our majors.
2. 256 unmade rocket ships.
A castle made of bare bears.
A tower only reached
by the dwindling of time.
3. Bones held together
in a garland, our guards,
warding off the evil spirits,
our fortress safe
from goblins and ghouls.
4. Memories marinated,
pretty polaroids posted peculiarly.
Traded the white squares
for red packets.
Ketchup displayed,
hoping for plates of fries;
enough to feed an army.
5. You bite them,
and they’ll bite back.
Tropical tastiness tattooed
just under 800 times.
On pillows and placards,
lamps and lights,
dressers and drawstrings.
6. A secular resistance,
screaming with pride
and holiday cheer,
specific holiday undecided.
The forest in which the bunny
came and laid his eggs upon;
plastic snowballs among them.
The star a sign from God:
a backwards babe dangling,
marron and gold streaming down,
hands holding us up,
willing us to awake another day,
to add another holiday to the tree,
to get to June, the *** of gold
at the end of the rainbow.
7. Twinking in another time.
Multicolored lights
souring every which way.
As bright as us,
sometimes more.
8. Peppa Pig and her porky pals.
Resting on the windowsill
outside their houses and
play structures.
Perfectly posed as we
ponder profusely.
9. Spheres of fine fur,
floating and sinking
like waves to the tide.
Alive yet not quite sentient.
Bubbles popping
as they reach the surface.
Richard: the plant hastily named.
Third, the one which longs
for elsewhere, its potential
breaking as it reaches the ground.
10. Seven seats. A pair of twins,
studious rocking at their desks,
tucked in, patting their head
as I scratch mine.
The lost triplet, tucked away
near the door, perpetual time-out
for a deed never dedicated.
A hidden fourth,
lost and forgotten,
unneeded and unnamed.
The fifth, the blue moon,
the favorite, the one
never picked last.
A sixth, the found friend.
A grandmother who wheels around,
baking. Bertha is beautiful.
The last, a grey futon.
Permanently perched
is a student, laptop chugging,
these words written
as they’re read to you.