Breath Mint Tin

Milkweed butterflies.
Tartan picnic.
A flower petal dress.

A girl sips tea with dolls.

Her innocent lips.
Her mouth says, open.
No sesame. No forty thieves.

A girl locates a half smoked cigarette.

Hidden in the dirt.
Behind the milkweed
as she sought stones to serve as teacakes.

A girl picks up pieces of a broken promise.

Her fingers run the puzzling edges.
Her fingers peel the white paper.
Tobacco oils stain her fingertips.

A girl pinches her nose.

She traffic-cops her dolls.
There are seven intersections between here
and her bedroom.

A girl sets the paper and tobacco down.

Adjacent to her mother’s lipstick.
Between two citrus scented candles.
On top of her Altoids tin.


copyright © 2020 Kenneth P. Gurney

Occupation

We come bearing gifts.
Refuse them.

Even trade.
Kill the explorers.
Burn the boats.

Grasp the Con
in Conquistador
and choke off
all conversation
and conversion
attempts.

Do not allow
a single
tomato, potato
or tobacco plant
to leave
these shores.


copyright © 2019 Kenneth P. Gurney