The View From My Face

The view from my face
is mustardy and gummed.
There are pretend animals
waiting to be petted by artificial hands.
People drive golf carts to the grocery
store and are all chummy with the butcher
bringing them cookies and gear
to climb onto the roof and dance
to hot mixes. Some of the crayons
got busted when I tried to write
your name I was pressing so hard
I wanted to make it permanent.
I don't trust you. In fact there
are many entries that say just that.
The stuffed monkey, the dog, the soft
padding around the desk so you don't
tip me over on my side. It's all being taped
into books and the books are being
tossed overboard one by one. Then
you can move on and wonder what happened.
You'll figure it out just in time.