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Wednesday, June 23, 2004

wind up toy




I turn the crank key feeling how
Tighter and tighter the spring winds
Iron the skirt
Turn
Blow dry the hair
Turn
Paint the nails
Turn
Spritz the cologne
Turn
Until fully wound
I spin gaily across the room
Only to encounter a misplaced object
Skidding sideways,
Wobbling raggedly into a toppled halt
I want to stop myself, but
Can't help looking back to see if I've been noticed
Or simply abandoned for some prettier plaything
Fool to toy with the possibility
I was ever on the radar screen
The plastered on smile serves me well
My only hope to scuttle out, dignity intact.


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