you,
she tells me,
standing at the door
as i come home
at midnight,
asking where i've been.
i can't put you on the rack,
or into
solitary confinement,
she says
with hands on her hips,
or water
board you to tell truth,
that would
be cruel and unusual punishment
and who
wants that.
instead i'll cook you lima
beans
for dinner,
and make you sleep in the other room
for a week
or two
until you crack.
how would you like that?
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