Fallacious

as the spider legs she wears on
her eyes. The hairy ones, tarantula in size. As deceptive
as the curling smile she paints on her lips. And the
artificial sweetener replacing the sugar

in her dish. Her friends are much the same,
no deep conversations, no intimacies. All her life
she’s been fed lies that tasted like
cardboard boxed pies. Many false starts

turned into complete stops,
with nowhere for her to get off. If she had
a kernel of truth, she’d microwave it until it expanded,
to the size of a fruit.