no picnic

she is on the edge of spring…

and while she wants to breathe the breeze

her mind is a split screen

one side, a picnic. her family laughing in warmth

the other? screams

haunted by his words and deeds

she’s had enough. it’s time to sleep

into one another, her mind’s two sides

bleed

she is lying dead

on the spread

blanket

having vomited sunshine

with a life size print out

of the other woman

glued to her body

so sad, she can still see her own

outside the margins

she died trying

paint the nails on that corpse

lipo it

tan it

give it breast implants

hair extensions

there, all better.

june twenty-first has come and gone

she heads out of the house with her basket. Good wife

she has packed chicken salad

which she can’t eat

with that balloon stuck in her throat

 

 

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