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from Back Room Poems

Before the cannon was on the small side,
I knew just how comfortable
an explosion could sound.

Magic begs us
not to call this place a living room,
haunt our children for the right word
for something that tastes bad,
but that we go on eating anyway.

Company? No, that’s not it.
Enormity? Not sure.

When I fell in love
for the first time, people named a sandwich
after me. A sandwich
that I didn’t agree to
or approve.

Posted 05/27/10
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