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Memphis Poem
Chad Weatherford
Her kitchen has a smell
It smells like bombs
bursting in air
It smells like rock ‘n roll
It smells like a wound
that doesn’t heal
He often daydreams
He dreams of ninety-degree angles
and genetic equations
He fantasizes
about downsizing
without seeming uppity
She often refers
to calculators
as “computers”
Her feet become one
with the ground
when she walks
They both believe
that God had only one purpose
in mind
for Adam’s erection
They both have brown eyes
But her eyes are,
perhaps,
a little browner.
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