Shaving At Fourteen
Under the carpet.
Your siren has no
Sound.
I can't find my
Locker, but the
Next class
I'm not sitting
Next to you.
And you,
Short Stop,
have paused
Me.
Money doesn't
Solve my
Enviousness.
Of the wife, the
Eventual
Insemination
Of your kind.
Shaving in the
Morning, I think
Of your whiskers.
And with a cat's
Tongue I am tied and
Torn to nothing
Avail.
Copyright © Ian D. Campbell | Year Posted 2018
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