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Were Even
November 28, 2010
I look at my shelf.
It’s a white shelf.
It’s pretty.
My mother gave it to me.
Three pictures sit on it.
One of my family.
One of my friends.
One of me… and him.
I stare at the pictures.
Then I pick our picture up.
I shake the photo from the frame.
I fold it in half.
Give it a kiss.
And tear it.
Then I watch him float to the floor.
I stomp on him with my sneakers.
I twist my heel around.
Then I pick him.
I try to fix him.
But he’s not the same.
I just don’t like him anymore.
So I throw him in the trash.
Now we are even…
© Ana D., Worcester, MA
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