Thought trees

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On these long drives the trees
meet road-weary retinas that
turn them into rorschach blots
reflecting the thought parade
marching in circles in my skull

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Guess

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“Guess” he said.
“You know I hate the guessing game.”
I always have.
Too practical to waste the time,
annoyed that the questioner knows
the answer they’re asking for
anyway
yet he grins and asks again
and I flare my nostrils
and he wins