Small spotted dog, et al

every shy white girl I meet either
loves or loathes me. there is no
in between.


a sick looking avocado, a slice of ham on a thick plastic plate.
she scoops out interior and this is office lunch   .

it’s queasy green inside this thick-skinned fruit, and I get outta
there before I can catch a squelch
with my ears . I got office fantasy bad this time of year.

it’s somethingaround the neck, it’s the heat, it’s a flinch of the brain
to halt that base boredom that lingers throughout office spaces.


no offense, but if I ever admitted my crush,
you look like the kind of girl that would say
‘ohh, nooo,’ while laughing, leaning back in your chair as the host
cackles along leaning forward, into his desk.

and the studio audience would all laugh, and I would HAVE
to put on a fake smile and sip my whatever-it-is-they-put-in-those-mugs
because let’s be honest people, it isn’t coffee, and do a little fake

chuckle and hope– god, I hope your husband isn’t waiting for me backstage.


Small spotted dog by the roadside paws around for something edible.
That’s roadkill waiting to happen.

Dark brown eyebrows & yellow hair is what I’m after. Nothing ever changes.

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