No Kitteh, noooooo
Mine. Mine. Mine. All mine.
About 30 grams of carbs.
A wee bit of gluten.
Flatbreads are ok now and then.
Came home last night.
This shirt was growing legs
And was being abducted.
It was on its way to a pool party.
But without me.
I queried
“What is my shirt doing there?”
And my answer was “YOUR shirt?”
Yes. MY shirt. 2014.
Limited Edition.
THEY/ THEM
“CAn yO U shOw mE a rECiePt?
DO yOu hAVe a pIcTUrE oF
yOu wEaRiNg thE sHIrT?”
ME:
Yes. Here the NOH8 conference
I attended. It was a small fortune
For professional grade pictures.
Were YOU at NOH8?
Did you attend?
ME:
No. No you didn’t.
Do you even know where
you got that shirt?
Besides from my room?
Housemate:
No. I can’t even remember.
I don’t know how I got it.
Or where. Huh.
The day at the photo shop.
And the framed picture.
I took out every shirt to find it.
Can’t prove it isn’t there.
Can’t prove a negative.
Still reeling from the last night.
He shrugged and said
“Oh tAKE thE ShIrT!”
Parked so hard in the bushes,
My parking light came off.
Snagged by some bushes.
Then, I went to the Clinic
To pick up the papers I left last week.
They lost them.
With no back up copies.
Every form. Gone.
Hours of data.
None. No back up.
Pull out the Sad Trombone.
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