Wanting to use ‘I am your boomerang’ in a poem,
I Googled to make sure no one else had used the metaphor.
But of course someone else had thought of it before. He also
wrote about Carolina oak and lusting after wet grass.
This experience reminded me of my disappointment
when discovering in a Biology lesson that the triangular head
of the pet green grasshopper
my sisters and I had been nursing
in my father’s potted boxwood
was not, as we naively boasted, unique.
Tomorrow I will write of squared coins
and electric lampposts that grow thorns.