← v15n2, Fall 2016
Poetry · Volume 15, Number 2

Seven Deadly Sins

1

Just keep it

to yourself.

2

And stop shoving

that lemon curd

across the counter

at me.

3

Oh, so every-

thing’s a spec-

tator sport?

4

Open your mouth

a little more

so my fist can fit.

5

No, those are not my fingers

in your greasy pocket.

Put down that pitchfork.

6

The baby wants

your car keys. But

if you hand them over

he’ll want your beach house.

7

What does it mean, this

pressure in your chest?

More Me Time and

a lot more yoga.