with cherubic faces
and devil-born
souls,
and when they smile,
you’d better
run quick.
Well, Bree and I
decide no way will
the conniver make us
run.
“Sorry,” I say, but
when everyone except
Heather turns
toward
Hunter’s sudden
outburst in the living
room, I slip
the bitch
the finger. Guess
what. She slips it back.
So now we both know
exactly where we
stand.
I make a mental
note to keep her
the frick out of my
bedroom, hold
my ground,
don’t worry about
taking the high road.