to whom we owe our fabulous screws

A poem.

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the smitten
are only going to give you
as much grace as they can.
nothing waits forever


unless you work across from them

often turning one-hundred-and-eighty-degrees
in their direction
not for them –
it’s just part of your job description;


accidentally break
at the same time as them,
back-and-forth, braiding one another between
the sink and the toaster oven.

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