If you strain your ears
you could hear daycare man’s
blond-haired pig-tailed little
girl shattering her xylophone.
How straitlaced can a place
of rainbows and sugar highs
be, you remember asking
before you took the job.
You can’t take it, the
little girl always bothers
your lunchtime, hearing her
playacting rottenly.
Pink-eyed, you look
nothing like your parents,
you told her; she ripped
her hair out and cried.
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