My poetry

partially autobiographical, sometimes biographical, hopefully creatively crafted

Saturday, January 16, 2010

Death by Despair (or a random bullet)

I sat watching her body
lie in the pauper’s coffin
and the spectators
as they reformed and performed
on the altar of a holy building
perfectly painted sun glassed faces
streaked with strategic tears
one eye cocked at the audience
and authentic mourners

they say that she lingered in a coma
say that she passed from a trauma
truth is
she died of despair (and a random bullet)
as she walked
through the littered streets
waded among the human and inanimate
to a house that was never
her home
too young to be so hopeless
so innocent
to be damned and listless

Mother says she loved her
Mother says her little girl was always so
quite an unassuming dormant
Mother forgetting the days
she lay blissfully drunk
to her child’s softly piping whispered pleas
of fried chicken, 'tator salad and apple pie
promised over and over but never prepared
of body, hair and clothing
never washed, beribboned and lovingly enfolded
of letters, numbers and stories
infrequently, drunkardly, reluctantly read or taught
of silly songs and ditties and the itsy bitsy spider
never with giggles and wiggles, sung
of maternal hugs and kisses, and make her feel betters
rarely felt, seldom offered and received

the bottle tends to blur and obscure these
memories, realities
transmutating miraculously into
revisionist inanities

one, who loved the child
sits quietly, angrily witnessing
the spectacle
wondering and grieving
why death by despair (and a random bullet)
never strikes the

Note: Originally published Sept 2007 by Aforementioned Poetry

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