Sisters by Sal Beach

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“Crisp fresh air,” you say.

My red nose longs for peach-scented breezes

Where on my forehead, diamonds sparkle

My pup’s long tongue stares down my sweet tea

His tail drumming rhythm on my wicker chair

While the fan squeaks a soft harmony

My numb toes ache for flip-flops on sand

At your “refreshing air,” my red nose groans.

Then I look at you,

And I see snowmen dancing their feet off.