Bye, Mom

The old gal's returned to her crypt
In Las Vegas to gobble her pain
Pills and stare at TV. She'll ignore
The whole of the world outside,
Drawing ever more tightly, a black
Hole, a turtle, into the one thing she
Cares for: herself. As I watch the sun
Setting, relieved that she's gone,
The telephone rings. It's guess who.
She is home. How she hated the taxi
Ride there.



Poetry by Lawrence Beck The PoetBay support member heart!
Read 45 times
Written on 2021-10-18 at 00:43

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