Gyroscope Review 16-3 | Page 48

TOO DEPRESSED TO MOW by Mercedes Lawry I build a box and bury it, along with clues. I sputter and lie to the only ones who matter. I follow the line in the tall grass, itching. I smirk with regret. I finish the soap and keep it to myself. I age gracefully and then I don’t. I tear up paper airplanes, causing tears. I abhor milk but can’t explain. I forget to dust repeatedly. I climb the apple tree, inviting peril. I repeat myself.
 Gyroscope Review - !38