Carey Toane

ISBN: 978-0-9864965-2-3
24 pp
Winter 2011



Pretty pippin, you lost
your inheritance. Whoever said
you wouldn’t name names
had the sugar of a lie on their tongue.
Your brother was a teacup,
your sister a grenade.
Your mouth splits your face,
a classic, a persistent relic.
The produce aisle is a wax museum
five million years in the making.
You have legs, so run.

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