juvenile delinquent

When
I was
about
seven or
eight,

my parents
and I
visited
my sister
at BSU.

we stayed
at a hotel
near campus

across the
street
from a
kids museum;

aricheturally
glorified
chuckie cheese,

complete with
oversized
step-play
piano floor.

as we
checked-out
the gift shop,

my little
heart,
fell in-love

with a chinese
finger-trap.

my parents
said
i couldn’t
have it.

so, i
stole it.

that night,
in the
pull-out
hotel bed

the
catholic-guilt
set-in,
hard.

i was a
criminal
now.

“what have
I become?”

little bird
thought
to herself.

[fingers,
trapped
in tiny
jail]

my parents
and i
left
the following
morning,

as
Did i,
the
finger-trap
under hotel
pillow;

as
penance
for
my sins.

Published by

oiseauxwords

I am bird, these are my words.

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