Poem 73 Revised

Thirteen with a globe and a sense of entitlement
topographer spins the ball backwards to see the blur
I want to tell her: invest, take the thick prick of your finger
and be brave. Halt the sphere, begin your life here.
But she won’t and neither would I. When I look backwards
at the thirteen-year-old fool fumbling with her atlas
I know it must be so. We are rabbits with pain bucket toes,
so lucky to be young, so young indeed.

Poem 73 EditedPoem 73 Original

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