Hey honey,
when you finally
hit someone
(and you will)
not someone behind
their big steel cutout
all engines and
noises
but someone on
real feet with blisters
and cut-off jeans
When you finally hit
that person
I hope you
don't cook
go hoarse from
not being able to say
Even though you've
got the guiltiest eyebrows,
conscience and sorrier
than I could
possibly understand
I hope
I get real mad.
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