Tuesday, May 17, 2011

They handed me a pamphlet
that promised all the secrets
of the world.
It was six pages
front to back
and as big as two matchbooks
glued together.

They said six pages was
enough to tell the story.
I read every other word
There was no mention of
the curve of her hips or
vanilla ice cream on a slice
of blueberry pie or
picking apples redder than
her face after wine
and a kiss.

I didn't make it to the
prayer at the end.
I crumpled it up.
It landed in the garbage,
atop the picture of the woman
with her breasts out and
the expired coupons.

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