POET ON STRING THEORY
The baker places my macaroon cake
inside a cardboard box,
then places the box in a device
where he pushes a button,
and inside a second or two,
it’s all tied up with string,
all the flaps tucked in
securely, no loose ends.
I’d like to put a poem in there,
so I could see it all hold together,
no mixed-metaphor flaps sticking out,
and I could finally stop retyping
because I’d know the poem is complete.
Better yet, I’d like to put my whole
precancer condition inside there,
feel the benumbed finishing string
wrap securely all around me,
so I could be sure the GYN got it
all, and all of me is holding together.
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