Non-Erotic PoetryMy Daughter's QuestionMY DAUGHTER’S QUESTION
I picked up my daughter.
She was nine that day.
We went to the mall.
I bought her a CD walk-man
And an outfit.
Then we left,
But on our way to drop her off,
She said, “Why are the clouds dirty?”
I said I really didn’t know.
But maybe it was God washing his hands
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