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Refrigerator Mouth for Fe Her cropped hair reaches and gestates the humidity to its nappy bosom. Her eyes twinkle as her tongue tells of a secret, small and really not a secret at all, just something that made a difference. Her sister, she says, oj course, told her boyfriend who then, like a pussy or a punk, or both, told the man Fe didn't want to know. That night the man, the one Fe loves, called and pussyfooted around the matter of where her daughter was and why he couldn't come over and was generally, trying to be slick. Coincidence, she says, can kiss my ass. My sister has a rifrigerator mouth. Once the story is told, we laugh, and I am back jockeying my desk, I wonder how many times cucumbers or lettuce or that stick of butter I couldn't stuff anywhere without its extruding itself have fallen from my refrigerator. I wonder too, if it matters, if I should apologize and to whom. 51 ...

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