Tuesday, February 18, 2014


Velcro ripped apart with a zipper noise
straps flapping undone, spilling her awkward against the side-hatch
of the roller-blade rink. Day-Glo plastic helmet, knee armor, elbow pads
clung close as children but couldn’t protect her
from an ankle break.

Now she stands aloof, watching the teen crowd
like a pick-pocket with an eye out for cops. Over her cast she wears
slip-fitted boots, the kind with an elastic panel in the side.
She’ll never trust Velcro since it betrayed her,
never let it get those million little hooks into her again.
She’ll save herself for buttons, zippers, loops and toggles, laces, hooks and eyes—
anything but Velcro!

--word salad

Available! High-Voltage Lines, Knocking from Inside

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