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squint
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A box of chewed up crayons,
the baby calls them deetdees,
swollen on a plastic table
that tries to look grainy and cedar.
The crayons have drawn a few lines
in their time,
but whether or not anyone has crossed them
has yet to be determined.
Its not difficult to assume
that logic is thin enough to swim through
the white crevices,
busily cracking through cheap crayola wax.
Crushed by jaws and blind fingers,
the crayons whisper deviously to one another
and plot revenge...
ruinning perfect pictures of mommy and daddy,
dulling their points,
and sliding around in their itchy wrappers.
the baby is too young to care.
She takes another bite.
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021024
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