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Make the call. Call on your body
all wild-wire. Dead fragile

trees extend throughout us. We are
more tender robots than the last

batch. They say it’s getting bigger.
You feel less. Should you

like to be sliced or chopped?
They don’t ask, get clippers, start

at the soft. Go until the you that’s left

is just a bird, one left behind. Your eggs
just zapped life lines. You’ll never have

a baby now. Trick fireworks pop like gun’s
blowing downstairs. Baby skull

sized pine cones are all stomp smashed.
Fun, fun, fun. Ha, ha, ha. Cures burn.

You hear the doctor jingle his keys.
He leaves one inside for good

to fix your need for music. Any kind.

 


Amanda Chiado is an MFA graduate of California College of the Arts. Her work is forthcoming or appears in Witness, Sweet, Forklift, Ohio, Best New Poets, Fence, Cranky, Eleven Eleven and others. She currently works as a preschool teacher and California Poet in the Schools.

© 2012, Amanda Chiado

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