Little Lucifer - Poem by Adrianne Quinlan
Looking out the large windows beyond my
Cubicle I wonder how is it that you fool us
All so completely? You are younger than
The rest of us yet you prove so skillful, a master
Spinner never pricking your finger on a spindle.
Each tropical vacation you take is my torture.
And the intensity on my face, as you put it,
Stems from peering at your forehead seeking
Tiny horn-buds about to sprout.
Once veiled in mist now fully grown and
Still whining, passing high-quality copies
When only originals documents would do.
I bet your parents wept at your birth at the
Tiny water droplets where your face should
You're a mother now, and everyone says
Your newborn daughter is your spitting image,
But each time I look at her all I see is a cloud.
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