Wednesday, November 23, 2016

2 mothers, no father—
no waiting 

My dad died in London
bang overnight; that was quick 
I was nothing but a baby, though PUCKISH!
dad had said in a letter
a couple of months before this sudden bang, and gone.

Then, my mother and sister turned around
together, like a fence I'd have to get through
and looked at me like I'd broken something
maybe him, and I knew—even a baby like me—
that it was going to be a long haul.

I guess I just stood there on my two-year old legs
trying already to stand my ground
with this woman, or mother, who'd gotten lucky
two years back, and this sister (who'd come about
in the same way, seven years back) and whew!
I said in that spot, wiping my baby brow;
I knew I was about to be unlucky.

There, in London, in my family of orgasm.
I couldn't wait to get away.
I'd be running for years.

I still feel criminal sometimes when I get happy,
or a little peace.

Walk, don't wait, to the nearest exit.

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