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Category Archives: simile

Month 4:3

I slide The Sunday Times out of its plastic bag labeled
in three places “keep away from small children” as if
news reports were cheap playthings, flimsy, too many parts.
Caution, beware, caveat lector: 62 pages needing recall.

Month 3:28

When its entire inventory of lumber
is liquidated, guys crowd the store
like loggers, like river rats in a jam.

 

by Therese L. Broderick

NOTE: Of course “liquidate” does not mean the same as “liquefy,” but I’m playing with words here, extending the metaphor/simile.

Month 3:23

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Lab by lab, hearts torn

from ribs and shorn

of surface cells turn gel

pale, bare flan in the hands

of Science. White organs

like beached sea creatures,

small hunted whales, Cordelias.

 

by Therese L. Broderick

NOTE: This piece was inspired by a NOVA television show about growing body organs.

Month 3:22

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Minus twelve in Albany, the coldest in years,

my face unnaturally tight, skin attenuated

like an extra high string, a new E on an alien violin.

 

by Therese L. Broderick

NOTE:  This simile was inspired by a new kind of piano which features additional keys at its highest and lowest registers.

 

 

Month 3:19

Like a tiny bulb, the crewman’s earring sparkles

in January sun as he feeds spruce trees,

de-tinseled, into his Morbark chipping truck.

 

by Therese L. Broderick

(I have a bad cold, so won’t be posting a voice recording.)

 

 

 

 

Month 3:17

The shopping website assigns me an alias:

“Endearing Amnesty.” As if the store were a prison

from which I’m set free, all debts paid.

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by Therese L. Broderick

Month 3:16

She pesters her own disposition, harries its peripheries

like a cat snagging carpet, immoderate claws

vexing nap after petty nap. Ah, but too soon tiring,

resigning. Retreating like a cat to its bed, its idle nap.

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by Therese L. Broderick

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