Hmm. I'd better do Some Laundry or Something

My mother's here. She's 89, inert,
Of course, incurious. The past is
Where she's gone to live, the present
More a screening room for images
Of all that was. She plays them
Without surcease for the both of us.
I start to squirm. Given what I
See in her, my future isn't
Promising, but, in the present I
Call home, there are things
I could do.




Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 42 times
Written on 2021-10-13 at 19:00

dott Save as a bookmark (requires login)
dott Write a comment (requires login)
dott Send as email (requires login)
dott Print text


KYREUS of Sweden The PoetBay support member heart!
Warm reality.
2021-10-17