Miss Scarlet (the one in Clue)
will never be the same. At your new house,
eventually, you’ll open the box to play
(they have rainy days here, too, it turns out)
and the horrible brown packing tape
will remove her cheek, one red lip, her entire
fancy cigarette holder. It has a certain smell,
that tape — the acrid skunkiness of leaving,
perhaps, the panicked knowledge that
once you go, you can never come back.

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13 (to explain later)