A Poor Midwestern Boy & His Mother.


A crummy blonde.
And denim buttoned around shoulders.
And when he leaned forward
A farmer’s tan smothered the crest of his biceps
Like a polluted sunrise. Escaping pinks to crucify the Caucasian.
His hips were fastened with duct tape
Inside pockets of
Denim buttoned around shoulders.
Empty pill bottles that rattled a hollow plastic wail.
He took their form.
Mouth (agape) tasting alliteration,
Simple as
1, 2, 3. But where the counting of language took precedence
Was in the contentions of syllable injection.
Pills. Pills. Pills.
Courageous was his mother.
Of course
“Was” implies she’s dead.
In the context of her happenings.
She died of low wage employment
And a gypsy love of heroin
That led her steps
Coast to coast.
Denim buttoned around shoulders,
Assured him that his mother’s death
Was free will apt to God’s command!

On the road where he stands
Addresses moan like whores.
Promising that the final home
Will be his coffin.

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