Faulty Replacement
by Paula LaCour


my second foster home
was a single woman
with a compulsively clean
volkswagen and sterile
two bedroom apartment.

i was never allowed
in her living room abundant
with African artifacts
and antiques, i couldn't
be trusted and didn't appreciate.

i was never allowed
in her kitchen that reeked
of bleach, she accused me
of taking junk food from her cupboards
soda from her refrigerator
to ruin my appetite
because i was a thief
an ungrateful sneak.

the girl before me loved
her sculptures and ugly
masks, ate her salt-less
cooking and politely
asked for seconds.

the girl before me was gone
and i was not.






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