The Poetry of Mark Daniel Milbocker
Attic Play

Dad threw her against the shower
meek becoming monster, 
with words that won't wash away
as the TV drones its obliquity
and dinner lies unmade.

But cheerful sunbeams adorn the attic,
illuminate canvas and glass cabinets
of pinned findings and fossilizations
wrestling truths from obscurities
and allowing the eye to peer and
pretend we will not go hungry.
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