They wouldn’t like her short plaids

tied with ribbons pink.

She was sure of it.

Once aunts, uncles and friends

touched her skin, they walked

away for always.

Never coming back because

she was like barbecue

without the hot, red sauce.

No taste.

She couldn’t chance stepping

on to their blue and white porch. 

Barbara and Tony and Will would

run in the house.

Close the blinds.

Push the old grey sofa against

the door.

Then, look out the venetian blinds.

To make sure she left without

a backward glance.




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