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Scribbles Under Lead Paint.
by
Michael Icaza.
So,
you decided to paint
over that old room of yours.
White gloss and all
went into covering the scribbles
of how ever long ago it was.
Hearts-
remember when you learned to draw those?
Experimental shapes and sizes,
like eyes of varying emotion
hidden behind wings
you never got around to perfect.
Everything recycles it's self
behind a cache of enamel.
If two coats is good
four is enough
to make sure opacity
is preserved.
In haste
the ground
became freckled
with your
wasted
eraser drops.
And, as you wiped them clean;
watching them trail off like
shooting stars
heading back to their walls;
the whimpers of an old home
stopped.
Water and soap
didn't think twice
about aiding
another toxic childhood
down the drain
and into the ocean.
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