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2020-03-25T22:12:55-04:00January 3rd, 2011|Creativity|

I am a poet

On the way home
I’m late
I punch at the radio
that static gets louder.

At the fourth red light
I stuff a ginger snap into my mouth
and I remember
that I am a poet
a poet running late
and my baby is screaming to be fed
are you kidding me?
another red light
and I wonder if babies hold grudges
but I am still
a poet.

And I remember
to notice
that ginger snaps
taste like pepper
a fire-dance on my tongue
and it reminds me of the time
I made my mother tea on her birthday
out of lemonade and tobasco.

I was six
and she kissed both of my cheeks
and drank the whole pot.

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