Page 13

Ruby

I like to pick off orange trees from the branches of life's fallacy,

to take it in like grains of salt

and where I walk

they never cease.

They tell me I do not exist

I look at them

and still insist

I am here, really.

Really, I am.

I hope like hope shall never come,

clicking heels

one to one

and yet my slippers aren't quite so red.

 or so they say.

or so I said.

We dish out punches like four-course meals

I break noses, they raise their shields

I give

I take.

We make such haste

to love,

to hate.

 

Feast, we do. Like marmalade.

a citrus here, a citrus there

as stomach acid starts to fade

I pay my dues

for solemn shoes.