I've practiced the answers to all of their tests

When I asked for a pencil, they gave me a rattle.
When I asked for a hammer, they gave me a kiss.
All mongrel, no matter, I'll stay out past dinner;
I've practiced the answers to all of their tests.

I've given up sweets, their ridiculous shapes,
Their instructions on which ones have cherries.
Everything under the sun is lukewarm;
The poppies are blooming with worry.

When they gave me a map, I thought they were done,
I thought I could take off my dress.
They told me one town was as good as another,
Sent me packing, all fiddle, no case.

Each cul-de-sac greyed like a cooled brown bulb.
All dashboard, all driver, all sky & no cake.
Each neighborhood gatehouse, a live empty socket;
When they asked for my ticket, I gave them a wink.

The instructions all listed Step One as Repeat.
The poppies were planted in rows at the park.
I lived on a circle, then moved onto a square,
Then wandered back into the kitchen half-drunk.

The screen door, the scrim, the latch, the last word.
The glass throats of each vase open wide.
A house is the largest tombstone we make;
We keep walking, grateful, inside.

[Amy Woolard, 'A Girl Gets Sick of a Rose' from Best New Poets 2013]