I left it by the door.
My brother’s fingers, lodged between the sledgehammer and
the floor.
Chinese finger trap,
Glued to the fridge and sewn to my shirt,
“Run from the fire!” I blurted out and my father tripped
over the oven door,
His face slamming neatly into the floor.
With your palm in her palm and your fingers on her fingers,
“Finders’ keepers, fat man’s peepers.” She whispered
There’s a song that she wrote that just didn’t turn out
right,
With the pimples on her forehead and the stencils above her
eyeballs,
Golden prunes are her lips and her chunky finger tips are
to be chopped off.
Chinese finger trap,
Let’s buy the nothing from the supermarket and stow your
garage in my garbage.
My fingernails are breaking and your shiny chest is baking,
But we can’t cook you for too long or you’ll turnover.
Smoked in the pantry with his legs all around me,
We grinned like silly goblins and let the trolls march in
place.
And the viper licked his lisp and the echoes echoed,
But we couldn’t hear them through the laughing.
While he sprinkled sugar on the brussel sprouts the symphony
lost it’s sympathy.
We drove down to the river and drowned ourselves.
Chinese finger trap,
Give me my skinny fingers back.
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