Tonight's Poet Corner: Forked Fingers

Forked Fingers
by Belinda Roddie

You always had to clarify
your
true intentions
with Cajun sarcasm laced with paprika.

"Just kidding!"

or
"quote-unquote" gestures
with knuckles poised in white and red
streaks, while you sipped from a
styrofoam chalice.
I studied

microbes
under a scrutinizing eye
and there you were,
sitting in my science lab,
cracking jokes about the teacher,
and when he saw the arched eyebrow
I knew he couldn't get angry at you.

But it made it
so damn difficult
when you said "I miss talking to you"
or
left me a text message
without the pasty emoticon
guiding me by the porcelain hand
to the real meaning of your
stale condiment vocabulary.

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