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Would You?

by Kollyn Payne

Would you care to know
That my dad grabs a grocery cart even if we’re only getting toilet paper?
“Something to hold onto,” he says,
but we end up buying more items later. 

 

Would you care to know
That my mom wears a goofy-looking beret when it hits fifty degrees?
Sometimes she wears gloves when the steering wheel is too cold,
But offers me them first amidst the freeze. 

 

Would you care to know 
That I still see my younger sister as she was six, with her hair all out and 
about, 
And my older brother who I thought was so cool?
They were my first friends and the only ones I can’t go without.

Would you care to know 
That I’m bad with names? Even with the people I see every day: 
Students at the library, seniors at the Rec Center. 
I miss them when
they don’t show, and hope they are okay.
 

Would you care to know
That I’ve said all of this before?
I can’t remember everyone I’ve told this to, 
But I recall those who didn’t care at all more. 

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