Mary's Garden

Some people make lists.

Some people knit.

My friend, Mary,

She liked to garden.

Some people bake.

Some people paint.

Some people fuck like rabbits.

I write.

“Who are you hoping will hear it?”

Mary doesn’t garden

Because the plants will be noticed

By her parents, or boyfriend,

or some stranger over the internet.

 

Last October,

My friend Luke stole my shirt

And wore it around on Halloween,

And told everybody

That he was me.

He made a better me than I did.

Because at least

He thought he knew who he was.

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