Cyd

The background of our pictures are filled with flying irons

   The barbies are soaring over our heads and crawling the the dead branches

           Our hair is the focus of  our pictures

But just out of focus the skateboards paint themselves and hit on girls walking by

       The tree got up and walked to 7 Eleven to buy me some smokes

I had run out while waiting for my hair to die.

The tiny doors and tiny windows open like mouths when you come near

      Inviting their swallow

Stepping from block to block in the yard they lick at your feet and tickle your toes

       Careening forward with coffee in hand you stumble through the front door

Books have deep voices and newspapers speak in munchkin voices in order to make the news more fun

    Water from the faucet comes out in rainbows and the refrigerator yawns 

            As if another cream cake was boring it

Warms hand wraps around your own and place something cold and plastic in them

      you’re suddenly back outside and I’m here smoking my cigarettes

taking a drag you glance down into your hand

You have a tarot card, a chocolate coin, a mini red figurine, a 2 of clubs and some glitter.

       I smile with teeth that are rainbows and fade back into the bushes as you watch

The house gets up and walks away.