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Caitlin Boehmcke Poem

Snack Shop

 “I have to say, I love that American accent,” the woman said while

I waited in line for my sandwich,

 and I said, “Really?”

“My partner and I, we have a little girl,” she told me,

“We went down to Florida once.”

“Oh, to Disney World?” I asked and she said that

they had gone to the States once to get her.

I asked if that’s where she’d been born and she said

“No, we went to Orlando,

 to take her to Disney Land,”

so I  left it at that and

could never guess if the story was that

her daughter was from America and

she heard her in my accent or

something else entirely.

“My daughter has bright red hair,” she told me, “and

the temperament to go with it.”

At the airport on that trip they had looked away

for a single second and

when they looked back she was gone.

 “We found her about an hour later, my partner and I,

in the middle of a candy shop.”

The workers at the airport could be rude and asked her partner and her

how could they possibly could have lost her,

which they didn’t quite know themselves,

with hair like that.

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