several occupations to consider 

my job is to kick dandelions
what's yours? there is no dandelion season
but they arrive mostly fiercely in the spring.
little bright faces across the grass.
what kind of machine do you dream
of being? i want to be something
compact like a pocket knife
or a button. my dad is a conveyor belt.
i have his eyes & his hands.
have you seen where your parents
keep the capital? mine hide their coins
in eggs & then place the carton
at the back of the fridge. back to
the dandelions. once their seeds are scattered
it's only a matter of time before more
are staring up at you like kittens.
where should we go for dinner?
should we save the spoons &
sleep empty? there is some merit
to skipping every single meal.
well, no actually not but you tell yourself
what you have to in order to survive 
sunrise to sunrise. the dandelions
respect me unlike everyone else.
they spit on my boots to shine them
as i explain i only destroy
what i'm told to by my boss.
the dandelions just nod. 
is this cruel? it might be. 
really i'm helping them.
the wind stopped years ago & they need
to scatter. i'm yearning 
for a big forest to get lost in
& never come out. all those
tree mechanisms sprouting 
& climbing each other.
i love when people say 
"i miss you" when i'm right there.
it's the most honest thing.
i miss you, dandelion faces. i miss you
triumphant circus. drawer of pressed
butterfly wings. where should we
take our rusty springs?
wash them in the river till they
dissolve. i want to be
a dandelion in my next life.
watch myself turn opaque 
& fragile waiting for a strong
wind that will never arrive.

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