They've taken her to a bone digger over in Ballard.
He takes coupons.
He said she'd be having 50% less poems in 3 months
Money back guarantee. The poems will always be there
he said. He don't work miracles.
Well, they had to do something
she was up to 10 poems a day--
you should see her house. It looks
like someone lives in it--
she quit putting sheets on her bed
and slept in her sleeping bad. Books piled
write in the bed, all around her
and she was eating frozen chicken nuggets
right out of the bag. (Hold 'em until they melt
& they're easier to chew.) You know her parents
are good vegetarians. It was awful. Hard
to look at her laying there
with that big hair and yellow rocks
piled right to the ceiling
in some areas
(let the fossil record show)
well you know she walked in front of that bus
she was thinking them poems. Hazel
told you didn't she? Everything feeds into her
It was sad. I was there. The Fire Department dragged her out,
don't touch me don't touch me don't touch me don't touch me don't
Then she looked right at her Mama & said
"That's the last poem you'll get out of me until I write more."
It made my blood run cold. Still, she wasn't safe.
They had to do it.
copyright 2008 all rights reserved Lisa Trigg
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