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Play Krispy for me
Little usherette a million shiny sprinkles multi-colour your boots.
In this world of low ceilings you are small even close up.
You are Gary Kasparov pondering Bobby Fischer’s last donut -
are you wasting?
Here! Hand me your glow ended red torch I can check.
Or you could push the box top and cellophane back towards me
smile under your bowl cut
slip on unfastened boots to your small boy legs
and teeter to the fat and sugar of row AA as my one and true guide.
We can watch the projectionist’s hair
scribble and scar frenzied cracks across
The Incredibles
that fill your typing pool glasses with
WHACK! And POW!
and when they stop
your accent -
intact
slides down the screen
stretches.
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