She devours my posts
Like peanuts
Unable to get enough of them
Or maybe she just wants to see
What I am likely to say next,
About her, about her poetry,
About the world she lives in,
Or perhaps tries to,
And after all these long years
She seems to have found
A zone of comfort,
Away from the night sweats,
And early morning anguish
Though even she has to admit
It wasn’t easy,
And still is a struggle
Our lives caught on the tip
Of a needle along with
All those angels
Nuns used to tell us about
When they told me
I was a little devil,
And maybe I was,
And maybe I still am.
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