at the front door you called me
your little miss riding hood,
and with the glad red face
you called me for a stop sign once
as you called me a floored sugartooth
and me, you once called a starling
endangered in these woods,
as you called me
a you must be stoned, woman,
as you me caught a bit drunken
in User shape hug
inside the front door
with lips tighter than hinging rusty,
you caught me
with ginger boiling over a stove burner,
and the funny part is
there is no ginger in this recipe
to hold straighter any knees
at the front door with you
in your strong cattle rubbing and
the stronger the smell of rattling
that makes me raw
and you called sick-
like two sticks in friction
as two leaves gone so dry,
they climbed right out of their trees,
so very gone with fire

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