Hiding the wretch that I am by Emalisa Rose

She kisses my hand
and blows me another
when we say goodbye for the day.
We played bingo (she won)
made paper flowers, 
said grace and had minestrone.
I come twice a month
as a floor volunteer but
I’m really this horrible person,
getting worse with each birthday.
But I wear soft spots
for cats and opossum, all kinds of strays
and old gals in nursing homes.
I should probably just set up camp there
in this alternative universe;
It’s become quite becoming on me.
I’d be nice all the time
instead of the wretch that I am
when no one I care for, is watching.

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