AA ( / Birmingham, Alabama, USA)

Making Over

She doesn't fit my box,
he said.
So I'll just cut her where I've
marked in red.
Oh no! She still won't go inside.
She is just a bit too wide.
So I'll take a little off each side.
She fits my box at last,
he said.
And he was right but
she was dead.

by Ann Abercrombie

Other poems of ANN ABERCROMBIE (2)

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