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by: lauren ireland

  • books & poems
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The Summer of Two Thousand Fine

Dangerous whiff of rotting apples.        I’m gutted.

Wasps don’t sting they bite.        Actually I have seen my dad cry.

Real fruit or nothing.        Cheetos. Everything

I remember         about being three is wrong.

I look good in a bikini.          Give me my fuckin money.

Give me my fuckin money.  Give me my fuckin money. Give me my fuckin money.


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