#127 Approbation

by Amy Mackelden

I don’t know you. But I do. Even if it’s 6 years, countless Poundland duckdives, spending 8 minutes to decide in supermarket aisles between own brand designs and the expensive stuff.

If you’re an essence, if you’ve one, it’s got to be vanilla, thicker than you’d think in a bottle. Vital like a lunchbox looking tub that’s actually an organ harvester transporting someone’s heart to another.

I have no tools to re-patch ventricles you cut like overlong shoelaces in 2006. If you’d kept the pieces (did you keep them?) or if regrowth were possible (it might be in our lifetimes) we’d try like a TV couple to fit badly framed green screen backgrounds in driving scenes.

Send me dialogue. I will say it. I’m unassailable as this decade crocks into another. And I only like older, you know?

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