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7d
Dressed —
to reflect our mother’s respect.
Left —
on the steps,
waiting —
What to inspected.

With little intent,
we — boys —
unable to pent,
spilled down the stairs,
our mischief —
a crooked sklent.

No fear —
for the unkent.
Our joy —
wild, content,
without pause,
without consent —
for our mother’s lament.

Her eyes —
narrowed and bent,
as she breathes —
in our scent.
Emotions rise —
then ascend,
but all she shows —
is dissent.

We—
too young to repent.
Boys —
full of descent.
Her smile —
soon blent,
but her love —
never pent.

With arms bent,
mouths full of incent,
spitting mud —
with wild intent —
we drank —
from puddles.
My little brother and I did it. Poor mommy. She didn’t have a chance. So much love.
So Obtuse
Written by
So Obtuse  60/M/Ca
(60/M/Ca)   
27
 
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