When the wind blows from 

the south

it inflates my

fertile

exclamation marks

into multi-coloured bubble letters

that leap across my grade eight binder.

 

When the wind draws from

the south

it warps my

anorexic

exclamation marks

into blue ink question marks

that tattoo the palms of my hands.

 

–  do you remember your teenage mood rollercoaster?