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Poem in Which I Save Dan from Death by M & E

Kristi Maxwell

They hold the crime to me like a tire-intimate animal—I get the towel ready,
the faucet toward warm. Their weapons of different sorts
confuse themselves near the hat rack as if I had planned it this way.
Yes, a long time since the pleasure of forks—my dinner spoiled
in other mouths—I scoot through one like a storehouse
when my shield's misplaced. M & E refuse standing alphabetically
so I will be implicated through my lesser pronoun. It's cruel,
the bottles we usurp like organs—that M keeps moving
toward the fridge to hussy the tonics up with ice to irk me
we have a Dan-sized space in the freezer.
I refuse what my lips can do to the edge of a glass
if it's not practice.

Kristi Maxwell

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