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                      No Safety Pin


You wanted me a little bit…

but not enough.


Like an ice cream cone

in the middle of winter,


or petting the adorable

stray with ringworm.


Like needing to do laundry,

but you spray your shirt

with fragrance,


or having to climb

fifteen miles with switchbacks

just to get a view of the ocean.


Like it’s 6am and you need to shower,

but you press snooze and choose sleep,


or feeling you should go to church

on Christmas Eve,

but you stay home and drink.


Like you could sew up that hole,

but a safety pin should do the trick.


If you would have made one move

to smooth things between us—

it would have been enough.


But you left me as:


A cone uneaten

A stray not petted

A shirt unwashed

A view unseen

A shower not taken

A church not visited

A hole unsewn.


Now the season has changed.

What you wouldn’t give for

some mint chocolate chip.