She laughs at me,
I know she does.
I’m just a pull behind,
drag along,
one man sideshow,
entertainment for her friends
to grind between giggling teeth,
and slap around with girl-silly tongues.
I’m addicted,
like a child to the smack
on the back of mother’s hand.
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6 comments:
My mom died pretty young (46), and I wonder a lot what she would think about the things I do now, my children, my job, etc. Now you have me thinking today -- thanks
My Mom died, too, when I was young. She was the most beautiful woman I've ever seen, even to this day. But somehow this poem doesn't remind me of a mother, it reminds me of someone who's been terribly naughty, so Patrick? Off to the corner! :)
I like this one, too. It didn't read to me as a mother-death poem, but as a 'naughty Patrick' poem:-)
Nice write!
No, it's not a mother/death poem. I have been known to be "naughty". And I don't go in the corner by myself! Thanks Rebecca! Sometimes my muse wakes up in a funny mood.
entertaining!
Thanks Madelyn for stopping by and commenting! We aims to please Eric!
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