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Oct 28
a binky in her mouth,
like a mint cigarette, hoping
******* on the rubber ******
will quiet her down just

a little. She's a prickly opuntia,
an irascible radical, a fanatical
sphere. You cannot soften her
blow by closing the window. She'll

rise through the floorboards
towards you as you slumber. Ride
you like a four-wheel Hummer,
leaving tracks on your back. No

escape. She'll squash you in rhinestone
stilettos like a concord grape. Turn you
into crimson wine. Drink you up with
a plastic plate of roasted swine.
sandra wyllie
Written by
sandra wyllie  56/F
(56/F)   
27
 
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