Michelle:
I toss at night
thinking of you
the worry is intense
it makes my womb ache
he has evoked feelings
in you
in me
something is not right
the little man wants control
of you
and me
it cannot be allowed
I will crush him like a beetle.
Me:
His outer shell, crushed
in your wicked hands
the sharp fragments of
multicoloured body glisten
in the evening dusk
Michelle:
The little man lays broken
on the side walk
we walk past briskly
must get to the Myer sale.
Me:
Pity shines out through my eyes
and salty tears crawl down my cheeks
like a slow moving afternoon.
He pleads silently
begging for me to lift him up
I reach out to him, fingers touch
and tuck his bones into my Gucci tote.
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