Sad streets are thirsty. They have battled boiling
dreams since glue
drops
dripped on squalid carpet.
Slut!
Mixing flour and water in
three day dirt. So,
I went to collect hens’ eggs.
I stole them.
A pretty red hen was never
offered papers to sign,
to relinquish! I just
took them.
I am grateful for the Bulgarians! They
didn’t crack my egg
and eat her for breakfast! They
decorated her in pink bows,
shined her up for the world.
That poor hen. She would have
been a great mother, but her egg
was scrambled and puked up
by an allergy!
maggiemaeijustsaythis 