The Summer the Unicorn Died
That was the day the Unicorn died.
In the summer of my seventh year,
Reality struck hard,
Tearing away my foolish youthful fantasies.
That was the year Daddy hit
The Unicorn with our Winnebago.
My sister and I cried a lot
And Daddy didn’t have Comprehensive.
*
Bubble bejeweled glass
cups clear Calistoga
water like a priest’s palm
minute flicking drops,
baptize my eyes shut.
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