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The last time I felt it
was sometime before the dishwasher
flooded the kitchen,

the same day Ripley
sliced his paw open on a broken bottle
someone flung into the yard,

the day Lenny left me
for a platinum waitress.

Left me up to my ankles in soapy water
with a bleeding dog,
for a woman whose nails
are longer than my hair.

That was weeks ago.
The dishwasher is fixed.
The dog’s stitches are out.
Lenny’s still gone
and I’m letting my hair grow.

 


Jean Brasseur lives in Northern Virginia with her husband, two children, two dogs, five ferrets and other assorted pets. When not working or cleaning up after the aforementioned roomies, she enjoys all types of poetry, particularly that written by new and unknown poets. Jean has been writing poetry for as long as she can remember, but only became serious about her craft a few years ago when impending birthdays made her realize it was now or never. Since then her work has appeared in Miller’s Pond Poetry, Poet’s Ink Review and Red Fez.

© 2010, Jean Brasseur

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