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Writing A Poem Upside-Down 

When
I am inverted,
I fold my laundry and
I finish Wordly Wise --
my spelling workbook.
(That title
has a word in it
that is not even a word).

Fifteen words
later,
I peel
a red pear
for my parents
who are
sitting in the hammock,
outside in the weak,
evening sun
while sharing a beer.

I found my father's
burgundy shirt
and pants
in my laundry pile;
I am folding laundry
like I do
every week.

Ouch,
I just banged my
head.
Being upside-down,
I feel like
my head
is going to explode
and my ankles
are going to
pop out of
sockets.

Not many people hang
upside-down,
in their living room,
like my family
does.
My spine feels like
it's going to split,
but it does not.
Maybe I will
try to play my violin
upside-down.

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