NaPoWriMo (7)

Negligence costs you,
I always say to my elbows,
the prominence despicable
yet always intriguing–
cows flourish on
grass and sun, take
their grazing seriously.

“Wherever you take me, I hope it’s not too cold there.
My hands have poor circulation, and if they’re bound up
with three feet of rope and stuck into a sixty-five degree room,
I’m likely to lose them for good. That almost happened to me
during my brief POW stint in capture the flag when I was ten.
They bound me up and threw me into the medical trailer, or ‘jail’,
whereupon I proceeded to chatter my teeth and scream for twenty minutes.”

“It’ll be plenty warm where you’re going, bub. Don’t you worry.”

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