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title
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Marybeth Rua-Larsen


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The Fantasy of Forgiveness

Drip, drip. Every symptom is disaster, the rabid racoon of forgiveness.
Mask on. Mask off. Mask below the nose. We are immune to forgiveness.

Fender bender on Main Street. My car bumper bereft on the sidewalk.
He yells, There are no accidents and pops the balloon of forgiveness.

Midnight party. The cat snacks on the mouse, the spider
on the fly. They preach the high noon of forgiveness.

Canker sores on weeping willows, split bark, and yellow leaves.
Water, water, where is the Blue Lagoon of forgiveness?

Taxi driver, waitress. Rent yourself out for the side hustle.
Student loans are the measured spoons of forgiveness.

Mothers, daughters, fathers, sons. Turn down the volume.
They only hear the tin-eared tune of forgiveness.

Rage lives on the nail head of despair. Soothe it with a hammer.
Tsk, tsk, M.B. Nothing is lost when you kiss the moon of forgiveness.