MY FIBONACCI NUMBERS
(the keys and the locket)
I buried them under the dirt, a few feet
down, next to the stalwart fiber. A place
for lizards and frogs, perhaps. It's just
a swampy moraine, a glacial hole they
can't believe in enough to build on.
Five stories up, on the other side of
the street, the little Spanish family
fights words between themselves :
something over something, issues
between women and men. The
universal day of infamy rolls on.
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