High Maintenance
Some days you can read my face
Like a map:
Origami pressed
Into the glove compartment.
The creases creeping
Along the dead ends
And round-a-bouts
Speak volumes.
But the rest of the week
I am well contained:
A Japanese instruction booklet.
Only the images are universal
And half my screws are missing.
Don't be surprised
If I fall apart.
Like a map:
Origami pressed
Into the glove compartment.
The creases creeping
Along the dead ends
And round-a-bouts
Speak volumes.
But the rest of the week
I am well contained:
A Japanese instruction booklet.
Only the images are universal
And half my screws are missing.
Don't be surprised
If I fall apart.
I like this poem.
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