Poem in Which I Save Dan from Death by M & EKristi 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.
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