He’s a big, but mostly empty, box.
She’s a sledge
hammer covered with in silver filagree.
His arrival feels like the
first day of vacation.
She’ll always be there on time.
He’s dirty dishwater filled with
knives.
She’s the dead end where people
illegally dump old furniture and mattresses.
He’s the smoke that always
seems to follow you around the campfire.
Her instincts are good but rest
of her isn’t paying attention.
—Mitchell Hegman
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