house
it was me and charlotte
playing house in my parent’s basement
we were nine or ten
and all we did was cuddle in the dark and kiss
we kissed like parents did
like you did playing house
even though my parents were fighting all of the time
and charlotte’s old man had already left her mom years ago
neither of us saw much kissing
but we played house that way regardless
we kissed and cuddled like good television couples
our teeth clinking
because we didn’t know how make out
our breath tasting of lunch or dinner
like canned spaghetti and peanut butter
and for whatever reason growing kids had
our game eventually ended
charlotte stopped coming over to play house
but instead hung with her girlfriends in the street
playing pop music on tapes
pointing and laughing at me
and calling me fat ass
of course i’d push her or call her a bitch
we were an aftermath of love and family
distilled down to brutalities and insults
just like our parents
like all the parents we knew in pittsburgh
like families everywhere in america
playing house until they died inside
and love transformed itself in to a flower called hate.
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