poetry
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Curves

There’s something about the way the road bends and turns
like a stream cutting its way through the landscape
making its way home
making its presence known and demanding the crowd to move
make way for the lady with the curves 

who is sure she looks so fine,
which is the effect of the high
of the hot coconut caramel Dunkin’ Donuts coffee
and the 25 minute break away from the hyped-up or heavy-eyed hormonal adolescents she has just spent the last three hours with.

That, and the fact that she wears a skirt or a dress every day, 
which has a way of bringing out her curves
which she knows at times cuts through the landscape of her husband’s dogmatic mind
causes him to lose grip, wrap his hands around her middle –

O, her middle – 

pull her close to him,
but not nearly as much as she’d like
which muddles her mind like the haze dampens the picture before her eyes.

But still there’s something about that road there in the haze
curving and cutting through the landscape.
Yeah, the warmth and the quiet of the air make it bearable,
but really it’s all about the curve of the road and how it brings balance and contrast.

And she prays for grace to allow her curves – her dogmatic curves – to bring the balance and contrast of 
in the image of God created he him; male and female created he them 

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