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What is Your Poetry Like?

by Molly Tenenbaum

Itís got a drawerful of doodads.
Itís got a jar of leftover screws.
Unfortunately it has no allen wrench.
One bolt will not be undone.
Seeks in the woods the rare tufted cupcake.
Might be a mushroom.
Says I donít want any, eats all yours.
Says itís not looking at the swan.
Says itís not counting the daisy
before it starts Loves me or Not.
An itch, an itch, an itch
in its nose, it wants, it wants,
it wants to sayÖ
ah choo. Canít help its own turmeric.
Canít wash the smell from its hands.
How would I know if it snores?
Does not speak French.
Comes with a free bucket,
free hole. Born of Thimble
by Banana Peel, its knots,
granny and slip. Once suffered
a terrible case of the turnstiles.
Once was infested with sibilants
and made to stay home from the party.
Always wanted a dollhouse,
one with a real-looking fire in the fireplace,
one with a loaf of real-looking bread on the table.


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