of cats
crawling about,
on the counters, the desks,
the laptops
at the tax return office
in Manassas.
a clapboard
cape cod off centerville
road.
the place
smells like
home. like cats, like
there's something
on the stove.
betty, the owner,
greets me with her
usual,
i hope we don't to jail
this year,
then adjusts her wig
and laughs.
she's gold.
please don't tell me you
got married
again, she says.
and i i report loudly,
hell no.
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