The name of the game is

curiosity, drawing you
in a pool of unrequited
hopes molded by
your heart and sustained
in the cerebrum of your
cortex. No one envies
the stupidity of cats.

truth, a game adults
leave to the innocence
of the young they force
into submissive adulthood.
A game played on bunkbeds
the night you realized
camp councilors never sleep.

fragility, because neither egos
nor dinner plates outline
the institution of your
grandparents’ white lace
tablecloths. Divorce
was never an option; no
one interrupts the shouting.


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