At The Buffet

She flicks that golden braid over her shoulder
onto a rhinestone studded collared jean jacket
as she sings her soul out under hot teal lights.
The greens and pinks of her floral skirt swirl
around dimpled knees while both hands raise
above heads to clap us into submission.
She’s a robot.
She’s a swallow.
She’s a Canens at battle with the night.
She can be anything she wants to be.
She’s got all her love to give.
She WILL survive.

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