The rotting smell of death surrounds me

as I step outside the closing doors

Fuck, I knew I should have chosen the past

As you shake with fear,

tell me: are the monsters

of this world even more

terrifying than the ones

of your imagination?

Me: You want me to write a poem about your daughter knowing only that she will be 13 and likes the slide at the park?

Helen: yes

Childhood memories tiptoe,

twist, tango, and tap dance

their way among the drops

Evaluating the amount of cat barf

against the proximity to my body

Ring-a-round the rosie,

        Respiratory droplets, 

A pocket full of posies,

          Toilet paper in our closets,

When two vowels go walking…

a lot of shit can happen

We line the recess fence, metaphorical lambs 

being led to what I hope is only metaphorical slaughter