Runcible Spoon

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My daughter holds her breath.

Her hand’s all shake,

the block on which the tower depends

creeps bit by bit.

It offers her resistance.

It makes her sweat.


Finally it’s out. Calamity averted.

She sighs relief.


Dad? Can I ask you something?

I crane my head around the stack.


Dad? Last week my brother

stuck his hand inside my pants and licked me.

Down there.

Why would he do THAT?