Glass (Crank 2)

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.