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Wipe That Look Right Off Your Face

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if I could
I’d take a giant eraser to the years
and scrub softly
as I used to remove dinner
from your cheeks and lips and hair
rubbing your face till you laughed—
a warm cloth, water, a squeeze of baby shampoo
washed away squash and ice cream and pasta sauce
the way I’d now wash away teen smirks and superiority.
Afterward,
you’d shine.

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