Poem: Cloth

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I went back to a piece I wrote maybe three years ago.  This was super-old!  I edited it, and this is what I currently have.

Cloth
 
our scarves match
the green lettuce on the table.
 
half-heard slang
moves through the room like a toy
boat in a conversation monsoon.
 
but nobody’s mad—
no guns,
no children tonight.
just dinner.
 
later, a scarf catches a snowball.
laughs all around.