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He likes to play with dolls.
I keep finding pieces of Barbie
lying around the house, plastic
limbs sprawled on the stairs,
scalped beach bunnies staring
back at me, wide blue eyes
in goldfish tanks and toilet bowls.
I've told him a million times
to pick up after himself,
but it doesn't do any good.

He likes to play with dolls.
I keep hearing him making up
dialogues, both his and hers,
high-pitched girlish giggles
and screams from the bedroom,
the dull scratch of garden tools
in the back yard, tiny mounds
with Styrofoam headstones
appearing beneath the hedges

      — Holley Day