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Spin Cycle
in the kitchen water splashes
on pans greased by hamburgers,
and from the other room come
the words electrically enhanced.
wiping hands on purple towels,
residents move to listen, flicking
off droplets as they stand, listening,
screen-bound as men surround
the microphones.
truth is dingy, and cowardly words
escape in monotones practiced all
night by college business grads
eager to move up.
moist lips suck truth, but
dispense the curds, most careful
listeners baffled, shaking heads,
moving back to kitchens fearing
something incomprehensible, devious.
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