O’Brien was out. The door’d
Slammed some minutes back,
The windows shook. Cathleen
Sits and opens her make-up. She
Waits for the return; but none
Comes. Good riddance, she
Mutters, opening the small
Mirror, taking out the lipstick,
Gazing at the face, the eyes,
The lips. Who’s he think he is?
She darkly muses, applying
Red to the lips, pressing the
Lips together as she’d seen
Her mother do years back,
The look is there; the hard
Faced ***** gaze, her daddy’d
Called it, his cap pushed to
The back of his head, the self
Rolled cigarette hanging from
The lower lip like a limp *****
Funny how memory deceives;
Makes things seem better than
They were or worse than ever
They’d been, she thinks, pursing
The lips, making the oval with
The mouth, then stretching it
Into the stupid smile. He’d be
Back carrying his mood soaked
In porter, his eyes glazed, his
Mouth still and silent. Always
The same thing, the same topic:
The lack of *** or not too often.
Forget him for now, go out and
Enjoy and shop and drink and
Visit mother in the home, her
Sitting by the window looking
Out, waiting for the husband
Long since gone, brain muddled
As a dark puddle, lips painted red
And opening in a wet smile, the
Hard faced ***** gaze still there,
But having seen much better days.
Cathleen pauses and stares
At the lips, bright red: Mother
Brain wrecked and Daddy dead.
Jul 30, 2016
Jul 30, 2016 at 2:43 PM UTC
O’Brien was out. The door’d
Slammed some minutes back,
The windows shook. Cathleen
Sits and opens her make-up. She
Waits for the return; but none
Comes. Good riddance, she
Mutters, opening the small
Mirror, taking out the lipstick,
Gazing at the face, the eyes,
The lips. Who’s he think he is?
She darkly muses, applying
Red to the lips, pressing the
Lips together as she’d seen
Her mother do years back,
The look is there; the hard
Faced ***** gaze, her daddy’d
Called it, his cap pushed to
The back of his head, the self
Rolled cigarette hanging from
The lower lip like a limp *****
Funny how memory deceives;
Makes things seem better than
They were or worse than ever
They’d been, she thinks, pursing
The lips, making the oval with
The mouth, then stretching it
Into the stupid smile. He’d be
Back carrying his mood soaked
In porter, his eyes glazed, his
Mouth still and silent. Always
The same thing, the same topic:
The lack of *** or not too often.
Forget him for now, go out and
Enjoy and shop and drink and
Visit mother in the home, her
Sitting by the window looking
Out, waiting for the husband
Long since gone, brain muddled
As a dark puddle, lips painted red
And opening in a wet smile, the
Hard faced ***** gaze still there,
But having seen much better days.
Cathleen pauses and stares
At the lips, bright red: Mother
Brain wrecked and Daddy dead.
A WOMAN AND HER RELATIONSHIP
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