Ms. Shall

A person is poetry made all hard and gushy

The chill tickled the soft down on her neck

Ran up along her thighs and down her spine

She walked as if she were gliding on water

Glissading down the stairs and sliding on earth

And she clutched onto her sleeves as if they would fall away

But if she rolled them up, they were safe

And her pants swished as they passed like a whisper

A secret that in a dress she looked much thinner

And inside she screamed

I will 

And I shall

Behind the dimples reminiscent of peach trees and grass stained knees

Was a heart of commercial plexiglass, acrylic plastic


And through all her calm, silent, still

Inside she cried as she might call to war

I will 

And I shall!








The End

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