My Mother Gives the Houseplants a Shower

talks to them as if they were her children. I watch
this strange scene in disbelief, and my whole morning
suddenly turns into a surrealistic dream where I am evil
step-daughter wishing for the bathroom back.
It should be my skin warming to toasty pink
in the steam of the glass stall, not some octo-stemmed
potted vegetation that cannot even breath
in the soothing humidity. I seethe as they continue
to stand, unmoved by the spray, wonder what is next.
Will she tuck them into my bed, read them stories,
feed them milk and cookies to help them grow? I shake
my head in disgust at the possibilities, until my eyes catch
hints of silver shining from the corners of the living room.
I smile, remembering the punishment will fit their crimes,
begin making breakfast, secure in the knowledge that the end
of the day will find the twin trespassers, once again, hanging
from the rafters.

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