she spent all day ripping crayola to pieces,
rainbows stuck beneath her fingernails --
colorsticks soon mashed together, flecks of
a childhood blown to smithereens littering the
lonely Spanish tiles of a kitchen floor.
all around, the bulk of metal phenomena
broil and hum into a clattering mechanical execution
of life. her prying fingers manage to snatch
the fruit flies from the cold metal fortresses,
these creatures to which with dangling legs die,
gushing their soul over salmon tongues and
teeth tiny, white, strung on a bracelet for
her father's wrist.
Girls' playthings belong in a toy box, to which
a padlock secures bare-breasted barbies,
wheel-less fire trucks, and
pretty little things with
their heads ripped off.
