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Miss Butter

Louisa Spaventa

I said "Invincible"

she said, "why do you think I'm invisible?"

She'd whirled her skirt,


high, buttery cheekbones,

blonde, non-sticking face.

Milkmaidish and waiting for a churn,

a post-coitus nap upon a piping biscuit.

I said, "No one likes a dry potato."

She showed me parcels of salt and milk.

I bought a covered dish and even

a small, flat fork.

I sliced my wallet in two

and dropped it in the toaster.

She giggled as bills burnt,

she whirled her naked hair.

I lay on my back and tried to melt beside her.

Louisa Spaventa

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