Anniversaries
Red letter days
give birth to each other
like pregnant goldfish.
Once again
the red circled hides its face
on the far side of the fridge.
Dates clog the cyclic notches
on my prayer wheel of anniversaries.
I hear an untimely cuckoo
in every paper window.
I need buttoned down numbers
that don't skid off
the expressway of things to remember
every time I see a squirrel.
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