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After you pushed her in the oven,
they called me candy-ass and hooted.
Papa kept me in his eyes,
shackled me when gone to town.
Sucked by the moon’s red summer
mouth, I could not wander.

You schemed behind apron flowers,
jellied sleep-crumbs from my eyes,
witched my meat until these woods
were close as water. You tangled
mama’s slithering arms. I waited
for her slit eyes to turn away in you.

 


Theodore Eisenberg is a labor attorney, retiring from law, but not from life, after 38 years in the practice.

© 2014, Theodore Eisenberg

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